If I Had a Gun
by scarylolita
Summary: When Kenny catches wind of Stan's infatuation with their redheaded friend, he decides to act quick and get there first. Meanwhile, when Cartman sends Tweek on a mission to soften the stoic Craig Tucker, everyone is surprised when it actually starts to work. Unfortunately, Craig finds out it was all a game and everything goes to hell for Stan and the boys. Slash, warnings inside.
1. Vanilla

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**For once I'm not writing in first person. I'm not sure how I feel about this. Also, I'm going to have the same teachers for this just because I don't like using OCs in fanfic. I've also never written Kenny like this before. I wanted to try something a bit different with his personality. **

**Full summary:**** Cartman is a sadist, Stan has a stiffy for his bestie, Kyle is oblivious and Kenny wants them all to himself. The boys are at it again. When Stan's gang and Craig's gang are caught fighting, much to the dismay of the entire high school, the principal decides group therapy is the best punishment. Soon, secrets are revealed. When Cartman sends Tweek on a mission to soften the stoic Craig Tucker, everyone is surprised when it actually starts to work. Unfortunately, Craig finds out it was all a game and everything goes to hell for Stan and the boys. Like everyone didn't already have enough on their plate!**

**Warnings:**** drugs, violence, guns, prostitution, self-harm**

* * *

The sun is up and the snow is piled high. Nothing new in South Park. It's Monday – ordinary Monday – the most boring day of the week.

Craig Tucker is on his way to pick Clyde, and then it's time for school. "What are we doing after class today?" Clyde asks once he hops into Craig's beat up, old truck. He starts playing with the glob of chewing gum in his mouth and sucking on his fingers – a nervous habit he hasn't yet broken.

Craig shrugs, pulling out of the Donovan driveway. "Whatever." School, like most things in South Park, is a cycle. Today will likely end the same way as every other day.

"Bebe hates it when I fight," Clyde murmurs, frowning. "I'm still sore from last time. Kyle Broflovski is a beast and he punches really hard."

"Don't be a pussy," Craig retorts. "Besides, Bebe isn't even your fucking girlfriend, so don't let her whip you."

"She's my friend, though," Clyde reiterates before murmuring, "Plus… I _want_ her to be my girlfriend."

"I know," Craig snorts. "Everyone fucking knows. You're intentions are so obvious."

"I _like_ her, Craig," Clyde explains. "Maybe, someday, you'll find out what it's like to have feelings for someone. Maybe then you'll stop being so damn selfish."

"Like I care," the black haired teenager scoffs. It's true, Craig doesn't find interest in most things, but he does enjoys upping Stan Marsh and his friends – Kyle Broflovski, Eric Cartman and that white trash ho, Kenny McCormick. He hates them all. He hates how much trouble they've gotten him into over the years, and that string of hatred has never been cut. He hates them and showing them up makes him _so_ happy. Craig has always been a fan of chaos.

"Someday, you will," Clyde mutters. "Relax and allow something good to happen, Craig."

Craig rolls his eyes. "Bebe is fucking that McCormick kid, anyhow. She sticks plastic dicks up his ass."

"Seriously…?" Clyde asks, frowning.

Craig nods. "That's what Red says, anyway."

"Fuck Red," Clyde bites.

"Watch it," Craig warns, a light attempt to stick up for a friend.

"Really, though," Clyde mutters. "She's always making shit up and spreading it around the school. She's the one that told everyone I had a small dick."

"Well, it's not that big," Craig says.

"Neither is yours," Clyde retorts.

"You wouldn't know," Craig states. "You've never seen it. Per your request, I've seen yours on countless occasions."

The jock rolls his eyes. "You're such a bitch sometimes. You know that?"

"Yeah, yeah," Craig says dismissively.

The rest of the ride is silent. They drive down the street and it doesn't take long for them to arrive at the high school. South Park is a small town. Craig parks the car and the two of them walk into first period. Craig sneers at Stan, who returns the glare with one of his own. He's seated with Kyle, Cartman and Kenny, who all look oblivious as they chat amongst one another.

Craig holds up his middle finger as he and Clyde join Token and Jason. A minute later, Mr. Garrison walks in and tells everyone to shut up.

"Nng!" Tweek lets out a shriek, practically convulsing in his chair. Mr. Garrison ignores it. Everyone is used to it by now, but Craig still finds it annoying as hell.

* * *

Kenny shoves his things into his locker before entering the cafeteria for lunch break. "Sup, twink?" Cartman asks once he spots his blond friend.

"Nothin'," Kenny shrugs, taking a seat at the table to join his usual crew. "And I'm not a twink."

"Where's your fag hag today?" the chubby teenager asks.

Kenny wrinkles his little nose. "Doesn't that make you a fag stag, then?"

Cartman grimaces. "No, because none of us enjoy spending time with you."

"Liar," Kenny calls him out.

"Stop fighting," Stan cuts in warily. "We all like you, Kenny. Ignore Cartman. He likes you, too. He's just being a dick. Pay little mind."

"I always do," Kenny says.

"Come on," Cartman scoffs. "We all know Bebe wants to fuck your butt, fem-boy."

"She already has," Kenny reveals, smirking as Cartman grimaces dramatically. "Multiple times."

"Do you have food today?" Kyle asks, promptly changing the subject.

"No," Kenny admits, knowing it would do no use to lie since he has nothing to back it up with.

"Want me to buy you something?" the redhead offers, giving Kenny a sympathetic look.

"No," he rolls his eyes. "I'm not hungry, so it's fine."

"Got a belly full of jizz, huh?" Cartman cackles. "How filling."

"Yes, that's exactly it," Kenny states tartly, pulling out his phone to check the time. "I've actually got something to do," he announces.

"What?" Kyle asks, raising an eyebrow as Kenny stands. "It's the middle of school. What could you possibly have to do?"

"Don't worry," the blond says, winking. "I'll be back before class starts."

Kyle clicks his tongue as they watch Kenny wander away. "What do you think he's doing?"

"You mean _who_? Dirty old men," Stan answers bluntly and Kyle shrugs. Though, were he to be honest with himself, he'd admit that Stan is likely right. Kenny's track record is pretty scandalous, especially for a sixteen year old. It's not something to laugh about.

"But unlike the rest of the kids around here, he fucks for free," Cartman adds.

Butters shakes his head. "I don't get it! Doesn't Kenny realize he could be making some serious motherfuckin' money?"

"Shut up, Butters."

* * *

Kenny McCormick doesn't have sex. No, what he does is much different than the simple act of flesh on flesh. Kenny McCormick doesn't make love. No, what he does holds no pure, sincere emotions. Kenny McCormick _fucks_. That's what he does. He fucks when he's bored. He fucks when someone asks him for a piece. Kenny McCormick fucks to feel because he's dead on the inside. Turns out, that's what repeatedly being killed does to a person. Just his luck.

The situation is familiar. Men often drive past the high school to pick up a teenager for a half an hour. Teenagers in this crummy town don't usually pass up the chance to make a few easy bucks. Kenny isn't the only kid who gets into cars with strangers, but he's the only one who does it for free. Red did it when she wanted concert tickets. Tweek will do it for drugs if he's in the mood. Craig does it for alcohol, but he has a no penetration rule and he doesn't want anyone around his _sacred_ area – as if that makes him any better. Thirty bucks a blow from Craig Tucker, the kid with weird teeth and tired eyes. But Kenny knows for a fact he's done it for as low as ten. Knowing that makes Kenny smirk and shake his head. The other guys don't know about this side of Craig, but he'll keep it a secret because, in all honesty, it's more fun this way. Kenny knows secrets about many kinds of different people, but he keeps them all to himself. It makes him feel superior – like a god.

The willing teenagers loiter so the tricks know who they are. A window will roll down and a man will beckon to his choice.

It's what Kenny does best. He's attractive and seductive with a passion for big dicks and a kink for pain.

It goes like this: an expensive car pulls up. Kenny will get in. It will smell like expensive cologne. Kenny will close his eyes and inhale. He used to enjoy the smell, but now he's used to it and it isn't so special. Kenny will smile at the driver and they'll go somewhere to park. Whether it's a blowjob, a rub and tug, a fuck, or all three… he knows what to do and he's good at it. Sometimes these men come so hard, they are back for seconds, thirds, fourths…

Today is no different. Kenny walks to the end of the school parking lot and sits on a bench near a rank smelling dumpster with a few other kids. He spots Tammy Warner and holds up his hand.

"Hey, Ken," she greets, sucking on a cigarette. She offers it to him and he takes a puff before handing it back. "Business, as usual?" she asks.

"Yeah," he nods. "You?"

"Yeah," she says with a sigh. But Tammy Warner has standards. She won't get in the car of any ordinary man, unlike Kenny, who never says no. "I envy your ability to not care about anything."

"Existential nihilism," is all he says. He won't bother telling her about the dying.

"Fancy term for a guy like you," she laughs.

Kenny chuckles wearily.

Eventually, yet another shiny car pulls up and the window rolls down. Inside is your typical business man who is probably on break from his 9-5 job, looking to relief a little stress. "Hey, blondie," he calls.

Kenny hops off the bench, bidding Tammy a, "See yah later."

The car smells just like every other. Kenny smiles at the driver and they leave the school, parking in the poor part of town. The cops avoid it here, so it's safe for illegal activity.

This guy is pretty vanilla compared to other men Kenny has been with. A quick blowie and that's it. His sperm feels thick on Kenny's tongue, but he doesn't mind the taste. It's hot and when he swallows, he feels it settle in the pit of his stomach. Afterward, the man hands Kenny a twenty, but Kenny denies it. "I'm not a prostitute," he says.

"C'mon, take it," the man urges. "You're a nice kid."

Kenny shakes his head. "I don't do it for the money. I don't _want_ the money. Keep it."

The man finally relents, putting his wallet away and driving back to the high school. Kenny likes it best when it's like this – no funny business. It's hardly neat when people take advantage of the fact that he is so expendable. Then again, it can be exciting. It depends on his mood.

"Why do it if not for the money?" the man asks once they're back at the high school.

"It makes me feel good," Kenny tells him. He smiles one last time, laughing as he gets out of the car. No more than a minute later, he hears the bell ring and he strolls to class.

* * *

Once school is out, Kenny goes home with Kyle. Kenny recites nursery rhymes on the walk to the Broflovski house. He's always been a fan of them. "Mary had a little lamb whose fleece was white as snow," Kenny sing-songs, "and everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go."

"Why do you like children's rhymes so much?" Kyle asks. They can get annoying, but either way, he'd much prefer silly children's songs to the dark stories Cartman tends to come up with.

Kenny shrugs. Instead of answering, he says, "Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king's horses and all the king's men Couldn't put Humpty together again."

"Y'know," Kyle starts, "they never said he was an egg."

Kenny pauses for a moment, making an 'o' with his mouth. "Dark thought." he grimaces. "Why is he always shown as one, then?"

"Probably because they're fragile," Kyle shrugs. "If an egg breaks, then that's that."

"I think it'd still be worse if it was a person," Kenny says. "Then there'd be all that blood…"

"Yeah," the redhead laughs. "I guess this way it's more child friendly. Anyway, just go on thinking it's an egg."

Soon they turn into Kyle's driveway. "So, why are you hanging out with me so much lately?" the blond asks once they're inside.

Kyle shrugs. "I miss you, dude."

"Oh, I'm touched," Kenny simpers, putting a hand to his heart.

"Yeah, yeah," the redhead says dismissively. "So, how'd your lunch meeting go? Or… whatever it was."

"Good," Kenny says vaguely. They walk upstairs, into Kyle's room and settle on his bed.

"What did you do?" he pries, feeling curious.

"Gave a businessman a blowjob," Kenny reveals carelessly, examining his cuticles.

"Oh, I see," Kyle says. Stan was right after all. "You do know that you're only sixteen, and therefore, it's not legal to be screwing around with men."

"Blah, blah, blah," Kenny says dismissively. "Tell me something interesting for a change."

"Tsk," Kyle clicks his tongue. "Ass."

"What? Don't you have any fun stories to tell, Kyle?" Kenny asks. "Or are you boring?"

"I'm not boring," Kyle says. "I just don't have any stories that would be of interest to you. I already know that."

Kenny smirks. "How about I tell you a story instead, then?" he offers.

"Do I really want to hear your stories?" Kyle asks with a sigh. He's used to Kenny's stories of sexual indiscretions. He isn't all that fond of them. Kyle is incredibly modest in nature and isn't the type of person to talk freely about his own sexual expression.

Nonetheless, the blond smirks mischievously. "I was once with a guy who made me sit down and pray with him before we did anything," he starts, shaking his head at the memory. "Fuckin' weird… and pointless. So we prayed, we fucked, and then we prayed some more because what we were doing was _wrong_. I left after that, but he gave me rosary beads and said he knew I was a sinner. I think he wanted God's forgiveness. He wanted me to beg for it, too. I went along with it, because I don't mind humouring those kinds of intentions even if I don't know where I stand in terms of religion. I felt bad for this guy, though. He was trying hard to repress himself."

"Do you like it?" Kyle asks. "Sleeping with strangers?"

"Yeah," Kenny says.

Kyle shrugs his shoulders, "All right, then… I guess there's nothing wrong with that."

"Thanks, Kyle," Kenny says. "This is why you're my favorite. You don't judge, even when you don't understand and when you don't agree. Stan is too full of guilt and Eric doesn't know when to stop talking. You're the nicest."

Kyle smiles slightly. "It's no problem, Kenny."

"Want a blowjob?" the blond offers out of the blue.

"What?" Kyle raises an eyebrow.

"I asked if _you_ wanted _me_ to suck your dick," he says condescendingly.

"What?" Kyle asks again, mouth agape. "Why?"

Kenny rolls his eyes. "Maybe I just want to taste you," he says airily. He's been trying to get into Kyle's pants ever since the redhead became single, but he never succeeds. Each time it happens, Kyle looks just as taken aback as the last time and it makes Kenny want to laugh at how proper the tall teenager is. He blames Sheila.

"Erm," Kyle pauses, grabbing his laptop. "Let's watch a movie instead… I've got a few ones you might like."

"Oh, yeah?" Kenny asks, shifting closer to the redhead. He likes comedies. He hates tragedies. Being able to laugh is a hell of a lot more pleasant than crying. Even he understands that.

"Mhm…" Kyle murmurs, opening his laptop and showing the blond boy his latest torrents.

"Let's see," Kenny muses as he looks over the list. "Let's watch _The Proposal_. I still haven't seen it."

Kyle nods, opening the file and turning up the volume. "Here we go," he says, pressing play and settling the laptop on the mattress in front of them.

In silence, they watch the movie until Kenny decides to speak again. "Kyle, are you a virgin?" he wonders, leaning back against a pillow.

"No," Kyle says. "Why?"

"Then why didn't you want me to… y'know," he says vaguely, but Kyle understands. "Because you're _straight_?"

"No, because you're my _friend_, dude," Kyle explains.

"So, who is on your fuck-list, then?" Kenny asks.

"Just Rebecca Cotswolds," he says with a sigh.

"Right… then she cheated," Kenny adds, finishing the story.

Kyle nods, frowning. "Yeah, quite a few times." It happened last year. After two years of happy dating, Rebecca's scandalous amount of infidelities were discovered by Bebe. Since Bebe has a soft spot for Kyle, she felt like it would be the right thing to tell him what his girlfriend was getting up to. Naturally, Kyle didn't want to believe it… but, why would Bebe lie? Either way, Rebecca admitted to it once Kyle confronted her. The redhead was distraught for the following month, but he recovered.

"Whatever," Kenny shrugs. "She's dumb."

Kyle chuckles. "Easy for you to say that, but I was the one dating her. I thought I loved her."

"Boo fucking hoo," the blond snorts. "Love is overrated. I'd rather just fuck."

"Dude…" Kyle shakes his head.

Kenny smiles lazily. "Rebecca will learn someday," he promises. "She doesn't know what she's missin'. We've all heard rumors about that big, ol' cock of yours."

Kyle rolls his eyes at that comment. It was revealed by none other than Rebecca. Their breakup was dramatic. She insisted she only stayed with him because of his king-sized dong.

"So?" Kenny wiggles his eyebrows. "How big is it, Kyle?" he reaches towards the redhead's waistband, only to have his hands slapped away.

"Hands off, dude," Kyle says. "I'm not gay."

This time, Kenny is the one to roll his eyes. "Oh, please. Gay, straight… it's all the same shit to me. You don't have to be gay to screw around with a guy. I've fucked plenty of so-called straight boys."

Kyle is not swayed. "Well, I'm not like that."

"Like what?" Kenny asks. "Like _me_?"

Kyle lets out an irritated groan. "I just don't like sleeping around, okay?"

Kenny wrinkles his nose. "Boring. Boring!"

"Why do you _really_ want to suck my dick, anyway?" the redhead asks, eyes narrowing at the blond.

"I told you already," Kenny says. "I'm curious. I've seen Stan's dick and I've seen Eric's dick… but I haven't seen yours."

Kyle cringes at that, but doesn't say anything more on the subject. The movie is almost over and soon the credits play, but still, he remains silent.

Kenny reaches forward and shuts the laptop. "Let's do it, Kyle. Show me your cock."

"Nah, that's gay," Kyle says again.

"We're sixteen," Kenny deadpans. "We're allowed to experiment. Christ, Kyle, haven't you ever gotten curious?" Unlike many, he skipped the _coming out of the closet_ spiel. Kenny was never in the closet to begin with.

"No," Kyle insists, shrugging.

"You're so fuckin' vanilla," Kenny snorts. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"If I do, can we stop talking about this?" Kyle asks and once the other teen nods, he stands up and reaches for his waistband. He unties the string to his sweatpants and pulls his pants down below his hips.

Kenny bites his lip, whining as Kyle briskly makes himself decent again.

"Satisfied now?" the redhead asks, crossing his arms.

Kenny grins. "Very," he promises. "It _is_ big! It's even nicer than Stan's, and that's saying a lot 'cause he has quite the pretty cock."

"Great," Kyle mutters sarcastically. "Good to know… and by the way, you don't have to show me yours. I don't think I'd know what to say if I saw it, to be frank."

Kenny shrugs. "Fair 'nuff."

"But, I have to ask," Kyle starts, sitting back down next Kenny, "Where the fuck did you see Stan and Cartman naked and _why_?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he teases.

"Really," Kyle urges. "I'm curious."

"Eric likes to have a hole to fuck," Kenny says. "Sometimes, that hole just happens to be mine. Same with Stan. He got lonely and sexually frustrated after Wendy broke things off. So, if they're in the mood, they'll call me over. It's not a big deal. It's just something that happens."

"Shit," Kyle groans. "Are you joking?"

Kenny shakes his head. "No."

Kyle lets out a breath. "Well… all right, then. How come I never knew about this before now?"

"Because you're, as you like to think, straight as a fuckin' pole," he says. "Just because you're a jock it doesn't mean you have to live so closely to that damn stereotype. Let me just tell you this, Kyle: most people are not as straight as they claim. If you keep thinking that, you might miss out on something fun. Open your fuckin' eyes. Sexuality is a spectrum."

"So, what?" Kyle asks with a scoff. "If I open my eyes, you'll open your legs?"

The hoodrat smirks. "There's one way to look at it."

"I don't think I'll ever be ready to see that much of another guy," Kyle admits.

"Well, then," Kenny says, standing up. "You're missing out, because I have a pretty sweet ass." He saunters towards the door and says, "I'm going home. Bye, Kyle!"

Without another word, he's gone, leaving Kyle alone to think about everything he said.

* * *

The following day, school goes by slowly and after classes are over everyone gathers behind the school to watch the fight unfold. It's always been like this – Stan's gang versus Craig's gang. Fights are almost weekly and now that they're older, the damage is always worse than what they've endured from one another as children.

Cartman throws the first punch, landing his fist in Token's unsuspecting face. "Shit!" he hisses. "You fat fuck!" He doesn't hesitate to retaliate and the fight is on. Kids are screaming and cheering, circling the rowdy boys.

Stan and Craig are wailing on each other and tossing insults back and forth. "Snaggle-toothed bitch!" Stan shouts.

"Dyke fucker!" Craig returns as they roll around on the snow, each fighting for the upper hand.

Jason has Kenny pinned down. The blond is laughing as Jason throws punches. He hits harder, but it only entices Kenny into further laughter. "Are you psychotic?" he shouts at the bloody-faced teen.

"Yeah, babe," Kenny says breathlessly, staring up at him. "Didn't you know? Hit me again."

A few feet away, Kyle has Clyde in a chokehold. "Fuck!" Clyde coughs, trying to struggle out of Kyle's iron grip.

Before anyone gets knocked out, Principal Victoria and Mr. Mackey arrive on scene. "Break it up, mm'kay!" he shouts, while Principal Victoria just looks pissed.

"Craig, Stan, Clyde, Kyle, Jason, Kenny, Token and Eric!" she yells. "To my office, now!" She spins around on her heels and the boys all untangle themselves from one another, following the principal inside. They squeeze into her office and she begins an angry tirade. "We're all getting sick of this! The semester has just begun and you boys have been in nine fights already! Nine!"

"We're sorry, Principal Victoria," Cartman apologizes with an impatient sigh, not sounding all that sincere.

"You say that every time, yet you keep fighting!" she exclaims. "If you were sorry, you would all try harder!"

"That's why we've come up with a better solution than simple detention, m'kay," Mr. Mackey cuts in. "This time, we'll all be doing group therapy."

"Fuck that," Craig says simply, crossing his arms.

"You have no choice in the matter," Principal Victoria says in a shrill tone. "I'll be calling all of your parents and informing them of your behaviour."

"Shit," Kyle cusses under his breath. Sheila is going to murder him.

"Are we done?" Kenny asks, wiping the red trail running out of his nose. "I'm kinda bleedin' a lot here."

The principal sighs warily, waving them off. "Yes, go. I'll be in touch with all of you when I've thought of the terms and conditions for your punishment."

With a collective sigh, they all leave the office. Stan's gang goes one way, while Craig's gang goes the opposite.

"This is so fucking gay," Cartman snaps angrily. "Who does that bitch think she is?"

"The principal," Kyle answers dully.

"Smart-ass," Stan mutters, nudging his super best friend.


	2. Group therapy: Fears

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thanks for reviewing/favoriting/following! **

* * *

When Friday rolls around, Stan's gang and Craig's gang are all forced to meet in the counsellor's office after classes. It's time for group therapy. Stan and Craig shove each other, both trying to enter the room at the same time. Once they squeeze through the threshold, everyone else shovels into the room after them.

Mr. Mackey is standing near his desk with arm crossed and a particularly grim expression – he knows that this isn't going to be easy. "Hi, boys," he greets the group of troublemakers. "Are you ready for group therapy?" No response. "M'kaaay," he tries again, gesturing to the colorful chairs arranged in a circle. "Everyone grab a seat and we'll get started."

The boys mutter to themselves, less than thrilled about their punishment. "Aren't these kid chairs?" Kenny asks as he takes a seat in the little, colorful stool.

"I thought it was fitting, m'kay. You're all acting like a bunch of babies after all."

"Touché, old man," Kenny mutters.

After everyone is seated, Mr. Mackey says, "We're all going to do a little sharing, m'kay."

"What if we don't want to?" Cartman asks dryly. Swapping secrets with these chumps definitely isn't on his to-do list. "What if we all have more important things to be doing?"

"This _is_ important," Mr. Mackey insists. "For the well-being of yourselves and each other, I've come up with some group exercises, m'kay, and I'd like for you boys to do them together. The first one is called _fear in a hat_. M'kay, I want you all to write down your greatest fear on a piece of paper and we'll throw it into a hat and go around the room. Each person will take a piece of paper and read what has been written and try to reason out why the person may have this fear."

"Can we lie?" Stan mutters.

"No," Mr. Mackey says with a sigh.

"What if we're not scared of anything?" Craig asks, his nasally deadpan ringing through the room.

"Everyone has fears, Craig," Mr. Mackey insists. "The people who deny it are usually the ones who have the most."

Stan snickers at that. Craig sneers at him before flipping him off and then doing the same to Mr. Mackey.

"Did you just flip me off, Craig?"

"No."

Mr. Mackey's eyes narrow, but he relents. He gives everyone a little piece of paper and a pencil. "If there are any jokers I'm going to make _everyone_ redo it, so you all best be honest unless you want to waste time," he adds. "If everything goes well, I'll let you all leave early. These are team building exercises, m'kay. You all need to take it seriously."

The boys grumble, writing down their fears with secrecy. After a minute, Mr. Mackey goes around the room and the boys drop their papers into the hat. "We'll go clockwise," he says, handing the hat to Craig. "You'll start."

Craig lets out a sigh of irritation, reaching into the hat and pulling out the first piece of paper his finger touches. When he unfolds it, he sees the simple three letter word – "Pee," he reads monotonously. "They probably fear it because it's fucking gross."

"And…?" Mr. Mackey urges.

"And that's it," Craig says. "It's gross, the end. Most people aren't a fan of fuckin' golden showers."

Mr. Mackey sighs. "Fine, next," he says.

Clyde reaches into the hat and pulls out a slip of paper. "Being murdered," he reads. "It's a realistic and understandable fear… Maybe they had a close brush with death or someone they know died…"

"Good, Clyde," Mr. Mackey says with a satisfied nod.

Jason reaches in next. "Love," he reads, raising an eyebrow. "Well… when you love someone, it might mean you have more to lose."

Mr. Mackey nods again. "Right, good."

Token reaches in after Jason. "Minorities," he reads bitterly, glaring over at Cartman knowingly. "This person is clearly a racist, proud of the white privilege."

Cartman simply smirks in response and Mr. Mackey pales severely. It's no secret whose _fear_ this is. It's definitely going to be harder than he thought to get all these boys on good terms with one another.

"My turn," Kyle murmurs as Token hands him the box. He reaches in and picks a slip of paper. "Heights…" he reads. "Well, that's one of the most common fears in the world. Sometimes it's a learned fear. Perhaps someone this guy knows has a fear of heights… or maybe he himself experienced something traumatic having to do with heights. Often times with this fear, people can't quite explain why they fear it. It's likely due to something from their childhood they can't quite remember, but it's still an active trigger."

"Perfect," Mr. Mackey nods and Craig rolls his eyes at Kyle's constant need to show off.

Kyle passes the hat to Stan, who pulls out a piece of paper and reads, "Failure…" He pauses and shrugs. "Well, no one _wants_ to fail. It's a pretty legitimate thing to be afraid of. Lots of people fear failing. Maybe this guy has a lot of pressure on him and can't afford to fail."

Mr. Mackey nods his head. "Good, Stan."

Kenny takes the hat next. "Spiders," he reads after pulling one of the last pieces of paper out. "Well, they're fucking gross. It's a pretty normal thing to fear. It's probably another one of the most common fears."

"Fuckin' finally," Cartman mutters, stealing the hat and picking out the last piece of paper. "Vomit," he reads with a snort, eying Stan. "Well, perhaps this person, _whoever_ it may be, did a lot of puking in their childhood and hasn't quite recovered."

Stan lets out a sigh. Everyone in the room is staring at him now.

"Er, m'kay," Mr. Mackey cuts in. "All right, boys. Good job. We'll end early for today and continue with a new activity next Friday."

Without further ado, the boys all get up and leave, shoving each other on their way out of the room. With them, everything has to be a competition.

* * *

"That was so fucking stupid," Craig mutters as he leaves the school, friends in tow. "I don't really get how this is going to solve fuck all."

"Yeah," Clyde agrees. "Which fear was yours?"

"Doesn't matter," Craig says dismissively.

"Come on," Token tries to reason with him. "We're your friends. We're not going to make fun of you."

Craig snorts. "I'm not saying a fucking word so you can just forget about it." Craig doesn't fear much, truth be told, but there is one thing he fears with every inch of his rigid being – and that is _love_. When there is love, you lose control. When there is love, you risk loss. When there is love, there is all kinds of negative emotions. Bad things happen when there's love and Craig wants nothing to do with any of it.

"Fine," Clyde relents, while Token and Jason simply shrug. "What are we doing, then? It's the weekend."

"Fuckin' finally," Craig murmurs. "I don't care."

"Naturally," Clyde laughs, shaking his head.

"Come on," Token says. "Let's go to my house. We can play pool and get drunk or something."

* * *

"What did you guys write down?" Kyle asks as they all walk home.

Stan wrinkles his nose. "Mine was obvious."

Kyle laughs, patting his super best friend on the shoulder.

"Stan fears vomiting, Kyle fears pee, Eric 'fears' minorities, Craig fears love, Clyde fears heights, Token fears failure, Jason fears spiders, and I fear murder," Kenny says easily. "Duh."

"Craig fears love?" Cartman raises an eyebrow. He files it away in his mind under: blackmail material. This juicy little tidbit would certainly come into good use later on.

Kenny nods sagely. He has a knack for knowing the things people try to keep buried.

"How the fuck do you know all this shit?" Stan asks.

"I know all!" Kenny declares. He won't try to convince them of his immortality or the sense of omniscience that comes with it. It didn't work in the past, so it probably won't work now. The only one who knows is Cartman, and Kenny severely doubts that he'd help convince Stan and Kyle of the truth. To most people, Kenny is an unsolved mystery, but not to Eric Cartman. He knows Kenny inside out and Kenny can't help but wish Stan and Kyle would open their eyes a little more and see all the things the chubby teenager sees.

"I have an idea," Cartman smirks suddenly, looking especially devious. "Let's go pay our old buddy Tweek a visit."

"Why?" Kyle asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, you'll see," Cartman says happily.

* * *

When they arrive to Tweek Bros coffee house, they swing open the glass doors and spot Tweek behind the counter, looking frightful. "Tweek," Cartman calls as he saunters up to him alongside Stan.

"What?" Tweek groans, twitching. He wants them all to go away because they have a bad habit of bringing him trouble and bringing him stress.

"We have a job for you," Cartman explains in a businesslike tone, smirking with self-satisfaction.

"No!" Tweek waves his hands around. "No way! I don't want anything to do with you guys! It's way too much pressure and you _always_ get me in shit!"

Cartman rolls his eyes. "What do you know about Craig Tucker? We know you used to hang out with him when we were young, but you don't anymore. Why is that?"

"He says I'm annoying," Tweek croaks. "He –_nng_–! He said it when we were ten so we stopped being friends."

"What a fag," Cartman says. "Don't you want to get him back?"

"No," Tweek murmurs, frowning before admitting, "Sometimes, maybe…"

Cartman leans over the counter. "We want the same thing. He's so damn smug. Someone needs to wipe it off his face."

Tweek is impressionable and they are going to take advantage of it. "What do you have in mind…?" he asks cautiously, still fighting with himself. He's not sure whether or not he wants to be a part of what the boys have planned.

"It's simple," Cartman says easily. "Just seduce him."

"What?" Tweek chokes on his own spit. "No! I _can't_ do that! It's way too much!"

Stan chortles and Cartman rolls his eyes. "C'mon, Tweek. You're breaking my balls. Work with me, here. You want to get him back, we want to get him back. This would be the perfect way. This time we're not just gonna fight, we're going to get in his head. Using you, we're going to play a wicked mind game."

"That sounds a little mean…" Tweek attempts to reason.

Cartman snorts. "Go hard or go home. Be a man, Tweek. It's time to put Craig in his place."

"No," Tweek shakes his head frantically, not wanting any part in their plans of emotional sabotage.

Cartman sighs impatiently. "Do this for us, Tweek. Otherwise the cops may end up finding out exactly what your parents have been putting in their coffee… and what makes it so damn addictive."

Tweek shudders. "That's blackmail…"

"Indeed it is, but what your parents are doing is worse."

"What if Craig is straight?" he squeaks.

"Pretty much everyone is at least a _little_ gay," Cartman says surely. "That's a damn fact. Craig is probably a little thirsty anyway. For a guy like him it's slim pickings"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tweek asks.

"Yeah, he's all right to look at but people are scared of him," Cartman explains. "He's got that permanently angry brow. He always looks pissed and he's not exactly approachable."

"Trust me," Kenny cuts in with a weary sigh, "Most people aren't as straight as they like to think. I like to think that part of it's the way we're socialized. Craig is no different, so even if he claims to be straight he could very well end up falling for you if you give him something to really think about. But either way, guys… can we not do this? It's bad karma."

"Shut up, Kinny." Cartman slaps the blond in the back of the head.

"Kenny is right about people being afraid of Craig," Stan cuts in, "No one is fearless enough to approach Craig and ask him out. He'll probably give you props for even trying. That'll make an impression. If he shoots you down, just keep at it. He'll accept eventually just to get you to stop and then you'll show him a damn good time."

"I have to sleep with him?" Tweek moans miserably. "This is way too much pressure…"

Kyle and Kenny shake their heads in disbelief. "This is pretty low of us," the redhead says.

"Yeah," Kenny murmurs. "Let's… not do something like this. Craig'll snap."

"That's the point," Cartman deadpans.

"I'm not up for this…!" Tweek squeaks.

Cartman is growing impatient and trying hard to hide it. "Tweek," he says calmly. "I thought we were friends. Remember all the good times we've had together?"

"Come on, do us a solid," Stan adds.

Tweek bites his lip, eyebrows drawn together somewhat fearfully. "Fine…" he says quietly and against his better judgement. "I'll try."

Cartman grins at him, satisfied. "Good man, Tweek. This is going to work out splendidly."


	3. Drunk mistakes

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**The makings of a (minor) love triangle. Dun dun dunnn.**

* * *

After discussing some of the finer details of the plan, the four boys leave the coffee shop. "Craig and Tweek? What a laugh." Kenny chortles at the thought.

"I know, huh?" Stan snorts, shaking his head. "I wonder how this is going to end… I'm a little afraid to find out."

"We're just going to end up causing more trouble than it's worth," Kyle adds with a sigh. They always pull cruel stunts and pay the price for it. They promise they'll learn from their mistakes but they never do and here they are once again repeating that endless cycle.

"Oh, Kahl," Cartman says condescendingly. "Don't be such a pussy. I bet Craig is as fluffy as butter on the inside. He's just waiting for someone to come and break past the hard surface."

"Right…" Kyle says slowly, clearly not convinced.

"Even if that's the case," Stan cuts in, "it's going to take a lot for him to trust Tweek. He doesn't really seem to trust anyone – even his own friends."

"He seems to trust Clyde," Kenny shrugs. "They're inseparable."

"Clyde must be the exception, then," Stan says.

Kyle lets out a quiet sigh. "Speaking of Clyde," he starts, "we've been butting heads at practise." They're on the team together, much to _everyone's_ dismay. It's a wonder they haven't been kicked off the team by now. Then again, the teachers all know that without Kyle, their star player, they'd have no hope in winning.

"That sucks," Stan says.

"Mhm," Kyle sighs in agreement. "Oh, well."

"When's your next practise?" Kenny asks.

"Thursday," Kyle answers.

"Oh, I wanna go," Kenny smiles.

"Yeah?" Kyle asks and Kenny nods eagerly.

"I wouldn't miss the chance to watch you jump around and get all sweaty."

"Oh, _honey_," Kyle jokes before sobering and shaking his head at the perverted blond.

Cartman cackles in disbelief. "Christ, Kinny. The thirst is real."

"Anyway," Kyle decides to change the subject. "What do you guys want to do now?"

"We can have a foursome?" Kenny suggests lightly.

Cartman scoffs. "I ain't gay."

Kyle gives him a pointed look. "I'm sure…" And suddenly, Cartman's eyes narrow at Kenny.

"What did you tell the Jew, Freckles?"

Kenny blinks, feigning innocence. "Nothing that wasn't true…?"

"Tsk," Cartman clicks his tongue, irritated at being _outed_.

Stan and Kyle share an awkward glance before staring at the ground and Kenny rolls his eyes. "What the fuck, guys? Seriously? Are we all still children?"

"It's just awkward," Stan murmurs. He's always been shy about this sort of thing.

"It's just us," Kenny shrugs. "I thought we were all best friends. Best friends don't keep secrets."

"We sound like a bunch of preteen girls," Cartman mutters.

"Boohoo!" Kenny raises his voice and it's thick with cynicism. "Why are you all so fucking embarrassed of me?"

"Whatever," Cartman says. "I don't care who knows."

"We're not embarrassed of you," Stan adds wearily. "I just don't want everyone in the world knowing about my sexual exploits."

Kenny rolls his eyes. "Fine, then," he says carelessly. "I'm going home." He turns down the street without another word.

"Think he's pissed?" Stan asks once he's far enough away.

"Kenny doesn't really get pissed," Kyle shrugs.

"True…" the black-haired male reasons.

"So," Kyle smirks. "You've both fucked him…?"

Cartman groans. "I'm so not having this fucking conversation," he says. "I'm going home, too." He turns the opposite way and walks with purpose.

Stan lets out a sigh, glancing at Kyle, who smiles in response. "You should've told me, dude," he says. "I thought we were _super best friends_."

"We are," Stan says. "I guess I should have. I just didn't know how you'd react. You're really… I don't know. You're modest, I guess. You're proper. You don't fuck around with people."

"So?" Kyle asks carelessly. "I won't judge you guys for fucking around with each other. You should know that by now."

Stan shakes his head quickly. "No, me and Cartman don't go near one another like that. Just Kenny. I think he's the only guy depraved enough to go near Cartman…"

"Come on, dude, Cartman has fucked a lot of girls," Kyle adds.

"Seriously?" Stan raises an eyebrow.

Kyle nods. "He has a smallish dick apparently… but I guess it doesn't matter because he never gets complaints."

"I wouldn't know," Stan snorts. "Kenny would."

Kyle shakes his head. "So fucking weird…"

"I'll say," Stan agrees.

"What's it feel like, then?" Kyle asks.

Stan shrugs his shoulders. "It's similar, but different… I can't really explain how."

"Have you ever… y'know," Kyle pauses and makes a lewd gesture with his hands. "Bottomed?"

Stan shakes his head. "I'd consider it… but Kenny doesn't like to be on top. He says he fucked Bebe once, but he didn't like it. So now she fucks him instead."

"Weird," Kyle murmurs. Then again, Bebe with a strap-on is not all that surprising to Kyle. She's always been a little dominating. "So, if someone propositioned you… you'd let them stick their dick in your ass?"

"Yeah, maybe," Stan admits. "Depends who, though. I wouldn't do it with just anyone."

"Hm," Kyle muses.

"I can't believe we're having this conversation," Stan laughs somewhat nervously. The last thing he wants is for Kyle to be weirded out by him.

"It's okay," the redhead promises. "We're close. We should be allowed to talk about everything in the world."

"True," Stan smiles over at Kyle. "Thanks."

"Sure," Kyle returns the smile with one of his own. "So, does this mean you might be kinda gay?"

"Everyone's probably a little bit gay," Stan says before admitting, "but I might be more than a little gay."

Kyle nods his head lightly. For some reason, he's not as surprised as he thought he would be. "That's cool…" he says, unsure of what else to say in a situation such as this. He's fine with it. He _is_ friends with a guy like Kenny, after all.

"It's funny…" Stan murmurs. "Wendy and me used to date. Now she's out as a lesbian and I'm realizing I might be less that straight, too."

Kyle shrugs. "No big deal, dude. I doubt anyone will give you shit for it. Except for maybe Jason. Experimenting is trendy right now and lots of kids are doing it. We're at that age."

"Yeah, you're right about that," Stan snickers.

"Y'know," Kyle adds, "Kenny propositioned me yesterday. He offered me a blowie. I said hell nah."

"He's good with his tongue," Stan admits. "His gag reflex is virtually nonexistent."

"Oh?" Kyle looks humoured. "Should I have said yes?"

Stan snickers, but doesn't respond. Truth is, he doesn't want Kenny to go after Kyle. He doesn't want Kenny to try and claim the Jewish teenager for himself. Not that he'd ever get the words out.

Kyle simply smiles, throwing an arm around the shorter male. He senses Stan's distress and can tell it's time to change the subject. He finds it funny how tough Stan can act in front of Craig, but Kyle knows that he's got a pretty soft center. "Come on, super bestie," he says, "Let's go to my house. We can play video games or something."

* * *

Back at the Broflovski residence, they play on the old Okama gamesphere. Kyle is pretty impatient when it comes to video games. Stan has been there to witness the angry redhead rage quit many games over the years.

"What should we do this weekend?" Kyle asks out of the blue.

"Let's get drunk and order pizza," Stan suggests.

"Sounds like a plan," Kyle chuckles.

"We'll make sure there's no bacon on it unlike last time," Stan adds.

"We better not let Cartman near the phone, then," Kyle says with a smile.

The brunet simply nods before pausing in thought. "Hey…" he starts, still staring intently at the TV screen, "can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah, of course," Kyle says with a little laugh. "Ask away."

"Do you think you'll marry a Jewish girl?" Stan pries. It's something he's been wondering about for a long time.

Kyle presses his lips together in thought. "I don't know," he admits. "I know my parents want me to. After me and Rebecca broke up, they were relieved my _shiksa phase_ was over. My ma introduced me to a bunch of Jewish girls – daughters of family friends and people from the synagogue."

"What do _you_ want?" Stan pries. "Forget about what your parents want."

"Shit, I don't know," Kyle says with a shrug. "I guess religion doesn't really matter. I just want someone who gets me… and who won't fucking cheat."

"Yeah," Stan sighs.

"So, what about you?" Kyle asks. "Do you think you'll end up with a man or a woman?"

Stan lets out an awkward chuckle. "I'm not sure, really…" he murmurs.

"Are you into anyone right now?" Kyle pries offhandedly, staring at the television screen and furiously pressing buttons on the game controls.

"Not sure," Stan replies before he can catch himself.

"Oh…" Kyle pauses the game and stares the brunet in the eyes. "Who is it? I'm curious now."

Stan forces a laugh. "I'll tell you once I figure it out." But he already has it figured out. He's had it figured out for a while now, but he's too afraid to say it out loud. It never ends well when you fall in love with a straight guy. That's why he's fucking Kenny – because he can never have the person he truly wants, selfish as it sounds. Kyle is the epitome of straight in every stereotypical way. He's a jock and spends his time mooning over cheerleaders. He's changed a lot since they were kids. They've all changed, but Stan changed the least. He's always had that little voice in the back of his head that said it was Kyle. It _is_ Kyle. It's always Kyle. Kyle, Kyle, Kyle.

"Aw, come on," the redhead urges curiously. "I thought we were bonding. You can trust me. Wait a hot second… It's a dude, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's a guy," Stan admits, knowing it won't make a damn difference. Kyle is oblivious to this sort of thing. Unless Stan states it explicitly, he'll never put two and two together.

"Are you gonna confess?" Kyle asks.

"Probably not," Stan says with forced carelessness.

"Why?" Kyle asks.

"Because," he states simply.

"Because you don't know if he's gay?" Kyle ventures.

"Yeah," Stan agrees, though that's hardly the case. He knows for a fact that Kyle is straight. Straight as a pole, he often insists.

"Still worth a shot," Kyle shrugs.

Stan smiles at his friend before unpausing the game. Nothing more is said about the issue, but Stan is left feeling bitter because Kyle really doesn't know what he's saying. He doesn't know that he's unknowingly trying to convince his best friend to confess his love to him. 'It wouldn't work,' Stan thinks to himself. 'He's straight. He's straight. Kyle is as straight as a pole.' But he can't help remember what Kenny said – "_Most people aren't as straight as they like to think._" Maybe he's right?

"What time is it?" Kyle asks out of the blue.

Stan pulls his cellphone out of his pocket and says, "It's almost five. It's still pretty early."

Kyle nods his head. "We can finish up this game and call Kenny and fat-ass over. We can jack liquor from my parents cabinet. It's their anniversary so they're gone away for the weekend and they won't miss it."

"You sure?" Stan asks.

Kyle nods. "I've done it before. They never notice. We'll just tell Cartman and Kenny they have to bring their own," he adds, winking at Stan.

"Cool," he says. He's a bit anxious. Kyle is always interesting when he drinks, but it doesn't happen often. Kyle is intelligent. He's level-headed. He's the smartest kid in his grade – with high honours in all his classes… but when he parties, it's another story. Kenny insists it's _because_ he's so level-headed when he's sober that he gets so wild when he drinks. When Kyle drinks, he's on a mission and he means business and the worst ideas sound like the best ideas. Things he'd never consider on a normal day end up a tempting possibility.

Kyle smiles over at Stan before turning his attention back to the game. A few minutes later, Ike walks through the door with his friend Filmore in tow.

"Where were you?" Kyle immediately asks, playing the part of the protective older brother.

"Me and Filmore were at the park," Ike says, rolling his eyes.

"Are you going to be here tonight?"

Ike shakes his head. "I'm staying at Filmore's. I just need to grab a few things…" he pauses. "Why? Are you having a party or something?"

"No," Kyle snorts. "Just having the guys over."

Ike nods. "Well, I'm glad I won't be here for that, to be frank. You're all annoying when you drink and I'm the one who has to take care of you all and clean up your puke."

Kyle and Stan pale and Filmore snickers.

"Right, anyway, off you go," Kyle says dismissively.

* * *

After finishing the game, Stan shoots Kenny and Cartman both texts before pocketing his phone again.

"Let's get a head start on the fun," Kyle decides, standing up and walking into the kitchen. Stan follows him and they head towards the cabinet in the corner of the room. Kyle opens his it up and eyes the alcohol. "Hm…" he muses aloud. "What do you feel like, Stan?"

"Nothing dark," Stan says with a grimace. "Last time I had dark liquor I went a little too crazy. I don't think I'll be able to drink it again for a while."

"Okay," Kyle laughs. "Vodka sound all right?"

"Perfect."

Kyle takes out the bottle of vodka along with a bottle of amber rum for himself. He moves to the counter, where he fetches plastic cups from the lower cupboard.

"Heh…" he starts snickering. "I remember when we were fourteen… the first time we drank together. You couldn't handle your liquor. You were drunk after one glass so I put your second one in a sippy cup so you wouldn't spill."

Stan cringes at the memory. "Not my most shining moment, that's for sure."

"Ah, we all have nights like that," Kyle pats him on the shoulder.

"I'll mix my own," Stan adds. "You always make it way too strong and I like starting off light."

"All right," Kyle laughs. "There's lemonade and sprite in the fridge, so you can take your pick." While Stan turns to the fridge, Kyle gets out shot glasses and downs two. "Eugh," he cringes after swallowing. "Fuck that."

Stan watches him, chuckling at the sight as he mixes his drink. "You'll be the first one drunk if you keep that up and you'll be on the floor before Cartman and Kenny even get here."

Kyle smirks playfully. "Then you'll just have to take care of me," he says before exiting the room with a rum and coke in his hand.

Stan lets out a whiny sigh before following Kyle back into the living room. Sometimes it's like Kyle _does_ know how he feels and just wants to play around with his emotions… but of course, Kyle would never _really_ do a thing like that.

* * *

Around six, Kenny and Cartman arrive. They let themselves in and announce their arrival loudly.

"What are you guys drinking tonight?" Stan asks from his seat on the sofa. He's on his second drink by now, feeling the buzz but still sober enough to function.

"Whiskey," Cartman says, whipping a metal flask out of his pocket. He takes his jacket off and hangs it on the railing before joining Stan and Kyle in the living room.

"I'm not drinking," Kenny says, removing his trusty parka and doing the same. "I popped a few pills earlier, though. So, I'm still feeling pretty good right now."

"And _thirsty_," Cartman adds under his breath, while the blond smiles innocently. His eyes are wide as golf balls and his pupils are large.

Kyle raises a brow at the unsurprising news. "Lovely…"

"What do you have for food?" Cartman asks, looking at the redhead.

"We're going to order pizza," Kyle tells him.

"Do it now," Cartman says. "I'm fuckin' hungry."

"You're always hungry, you fat fuck," Kyle snorts. Nonetheless, he stands up and grabs the house phone, dialling the number to the local pizza joint to put in their order.

"I'm hungry, too," Kenny mentions. "I haven't eaten in days."

"Jack-ass," Kyle says once he's off the phone. "Come over when you're hungry. I'll feed you."

"Aw," Kenny coos at him, latching onto his arm. "You're so nice, Kyle."

Kyle chuckles, "Yeah, yeah."

Kenny drags Kyle into the loveseat with him and tosses his legs over the redhead's knees. Cartman begins flicking through channels aimlessly. "What do you all want to watch?"

"Put Netflix on," Kyle suggests. "Let's not watch anything I have to pay attention to, though. My mind is already wandering."

"Never can handle your damn liquor," Cartman snorts.

"Let's watch a comedy," Kenny requests.

"Sounds good," Kyle agrees. "Something light."

Cartman rolls his eyes. He's no fan of comedies. The only comedy he likes is real life slapstick. Unfortunately, his friends don't share his twisted and sadistic sense of humour.

With Kenny's urging, he ends up putting on _Saved!_ The entire time, he's grimacing. "This movie is hella gay," he says.

"Calm your big ol' tits, fat boy," Kyle says.

"The Jewish girl is insane," Cartman mutters. "And hey, she's just like you when you drink, Kahl… falling all over the fuckin' place. What a hot mess."

"'I think she's my favorite character," Kenny adds.

"Naturally," Cartman mutters. "You're a fan of crazy bitches. Otherwise you wouldn't go near Bebe."

"Don't," Kenny warns.

"Hell, Cartman, don't trash-talk Bebe. She's a fucking angel," Kyle cuts in.

"My ass," the chubby teenager mutters.

Kyle finishes downing the rest of his drink. "Be right back," he says.

"Gonna make another?" Stan asks.

"Yeah" Kyle nods. "Want me to make you one while I'm at it?"

"Please," Stan says, holding out his empty cup.

Kyle smiles, taking it and exiting the room. He hums to himself as he pours Stan another vodka and lemonade, wary not to make it too strong. He pours himself another rum and coke and then takes the two glasses back out into the living room.

"Thanks, Kyle," Stan says.

"No problem, dude," Kyle winks.

They continue watching the film and ten minutes later, it's clear Kyle is pleasantly drunk. When the doorbell finally rings, he answers it with excitement.

"Pizzaaaaaaaaa!" he hollers as he goes to answer the door. Cartman follows him for good measure, grabbing the pizza from the delivery boy. Kyle digs his wallet out and gives the man a handful of bills. "Thanks!" he grins, bidding him a goodnight and shutting the door.

Cartman sets the pizza boxes on the coffee table and opens them, moaning orgasmically as the scent engulfs the room.

Kyle grabs paper plates from the kitchen, distributing them to everyone in the room. "Let's try not to make a mess," he pleads.

"Don't worry, Kyle!" Kenny says, but everyone in the room knows he's the messiest one of all. He takes a slice and bites into it, moaning, "Fuck, this tastes like heaven."

"I bet an old boot would taste like heaven to you right about now," Cartman snorts.

"Probably," Kenny agrees carelessly, food flying every which way.

"You're such a messy eater," Kyle laughs, wiping pizza sauce of the corner of Kenny's mouth and then licking his thumb. Kenny grins in response, giving Kyle a view of all the food between his teeth. "Adorable," the redhead jokes and Kenny snickers, taking another bite of pizza.

From across the room, Stan is seething with jealousy. What does Kenny McCormick have that he doesn't? It always happens like this - Kenny gets exactly what he wants.

"I should grab some napkins," Kyle says offhandedly, setting his plate on the coffee table and going back into the kitchen to grab the necessary item. When he returns he distributes them, flopping back onto the sofa next to Kenny, who is now making eyes at him.

Stan decides to ignore them both, not wanting his night to get ruined due to repressed jealousy. When the movie finally finishes, Stan grabs a video game controller and suggests, "Let's play _Street Fighter_."

"I'm a bit too drunk for that, but I'll watch yahs play," Kyle says.

"Me first," Cartman says, grabbing the second controller.

And the game begins.

* * *

After countless rounds, neither Stan nor Cartman notice when Kenny and Kyle slip out of the room.

"Fuck," Stan whines angrily after losing for the third time. "I'm shit."

"You fuckin' suck at this game, bro," Cartman laughs.

"Yeah, I forgot how bad I was," Stan admits.

"Where's Kinny and Kahl?" Cartman asks suddenly. He pauses them game and nods towards the empty sofa.

"Huh…?" Stan glances around the room and they're nowhere in sight. He stands up and checks the kitchen, peeking his head inside. No sigh of either of them. "Hm…" he mumbles to himself.

"Check upstairs," Cartman snorts. "Maybe Kahl got sick and Kinny's helping him out."

"Maybe," Stan considers, walking up the stairs. As he reaches the top, he hears sounds that surprise him. His heart begins to palpitate as he reaches the door to Kyle's bedroom. It's open a crack. Stan pushes it open and stands in the doorway, mouth agape.

In the room, Kenny is on his knees on Kyle's bed with his face pressed into a pillow. He's not wearing a stitch of clothing. Kyle, on the other hand, is behind him with his pants around his knees. "More… More, more, more…!" comes Kenny's muffled moaning and Kyle is grunting and thrusting. He looks like he's quite the aggressive fuck and Kenny looks like he's loving every second of it. Stan hovers in the doorway, wide-eyed and too shocked to speak.

"What…?" he squeaks. "Do you guys even know what you're doing…?"

Kyle doesn't even turn around. Like most nights when he drinks, he's on a mission. Tonight, however, his mission just happens to involve Kenny's ass - something he'd never consider on a normal day.

"Kyle…" Stan tries again, voice coming out meeker than ever.

The blond shifts and lifts his head to stare up at Stan. "I'm sorry," he mouths, looking like he might be genuine but Stan understands that he probably isn't. Kenny, omniscient Kenny McCormick – the boy who knows everything… He knew about Stan's feelings and he still seduced Kyle.

Stan closes the door and closes his eyes, standing still in the hallway for many long minutes – still too shocked to think straight. There are sounds coming from the other side of the door. He can hear them. He can hear Kenny moaning and he can hear Kyle panting. "Shit, shit…" the redhead's voice breaks. "I'm gonna come…"

Stan grinds his teeth and finally forces himself to leave.

Downstairs, Cartman is watching some stupid sketch comedy. "So, what're they doing?" he asks offhandedly, staring at the TV screen as Stan saunters down the stairs. Some stupid cartoon is now playing, but Stan doesn't pay attention to it.

"Kyle is fucking Kenny," Stan murmurs numbly.

"Christ, that little faggot gets around," Cartman shakes his head. "Now he's had all three of us, including Mr. Hetero."

"He's selfish," Stan says, sitting down next to the chubby teenager. "He wants it that way. He's hungry for affection."

"I know," Cartman shrugs. "He's possessive when it comes to people he's attached to. It got worse as he got older and realized he can use his body to get what he wants."

"I'm jealous," Stan admits, surprised he's saying the words aloud. He's saying it for the first time. Maybe it's the alcohol giving him the courage, but then again, he's sobering up quickly.

"Of who?" Cartman asks.

"Kenny."

He gives a long, slow nod. "I thought so."

"How?" Stan asks.

"You stare at him a lot," Cartman starts. "I don't know if you notice it, but I fuckin' do. It's so obvious, it's weird Kahl hasn't noticed… then again, he's oblivious when it comes to this kind of shit. He's the only one who _doesn't_ know."

"Yeah," Stan says quietly. "Don't tell him, okay?"

Cartman lets out a long sigh. "Fine, I won't… for now. I will if you don't do anything about it. This shit gets tiring to watch, y'know."

"It gets tiring to feel, too," Stan replies. "I… really fucking hate feeling like this."

"How long did you know you were gay for Kahl?" Cartman asks.

"A long fucking time," Stan admits. "Even before Wendy dumped me the feeling was there. I just kind of swallowed it, though… He had a girlfriend and so did I, so there was nothing I could do. But now he's single and I could easily tell him how I feel but it's hard. If I said the words, everything would change."

"Maybe, maybe not," Cartman shrugs.

"He'd get freaked out," Stan says knowingly. "Our friendship would never be the same and I don't want to lose him. I'd rather have his friendship than nothing at all."

"If you don't confess, you'll regret it for the rest of your life when you're standing in the room as his best man watching him get married some random chick," Cartman insists sagely.

Stan closes his eyes, rubbing his palms against them.

"Christ," Cartman adds. "You're such a little pussy, it's a wonder you can act so fuckin' tough in front of Craig."

"Shut up," Stan whispers wetly. He lets out a breath, raising his head. He's _not_ going to cry.

"D'you think Kahl will remember it?" Cartman asks.

"Who knows," Stan mutters. "He's a weird drunk. He only remembers some parts of the night. This might be one of the parts he remembers, or it might be one of the parts he doesn't. Then again, maybe he'll just pretend to forget."

"Kinny's on E," Cartman explains somewhat offhandedly. "That's why he's so horny… the fuckin' love drug. He came out knowing he'd get some."

"Tsk…" Stan clicks his tongue in distaste. "Whore."

"Ohohoh!" Cartman cackles boisterously, impressed with Stan's choice of insult. "Harsh word for a guy like you to be throwing around."

"I'm upset," Stan hisses. It's that time of night and the liquor isn't doing its job. He wasn't that drunk anyway.

"No shit," Cartman says.

When Kyle returns to the living room, he's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. He looks tired, but still drunk. He's swaying with each step, staring down at his feet so he's careful not to trip.

"Where's the poor boy?" Cartman asks.

"Shower," Kyle says, taking a seat on the sofa in between Stan and Cartman.

"Didja give him a nice, hard fuck, Jew-boy?"

Kyle lets out a weary little chuckle. "I can't believe that happened," he admits. "Like a weird fuckin' dream or somethin'…"

"Now we're all in the I-fucked-Kenny club," Stan mutters.

"It's probably a really fucking big club," Cartman snorts.

"Probably," Kyle murmurs. "I didn't use a condom…"

"He's clean, don't worry," Cartman rolls his eyes.

When Kenny makes his way back downstairs, his hair is damp. He's wearing boxer shorts and one of Kyle's t-shirts as pajamas. The shirt is loose on his small body. He shoots Stan a smile when the brunet looks his way. Stan grinds his teeth at the look of satisfaction on Kenny's face. He's practically glowing and Stan knows that this will probably change things for the worse.

* * *

By midnight, Kyle is on the floor, whining to no one in particular about the tortures of modern society and other rich kid problems no one else understands or cares about. His voice comes out in a high-pitched slur. Cartman is hovering above him with his cellphone, laughing and recording the whole scene. Since they're preoccupied, Stan decides to confront Kenny.

"Ken," he murmurs the blond's name. "Why'd you have to go after Kyle…?"

"Because," he starts, "I want all of you to be mine forever."

"That's stupid," Stan scoffs. "We're people… not toys."

"Aw," Kenny says flatly, placing a palm on Stan's cheek. "Are you jealous I got there first?"

"I'm mostly just hurt…" Stan admits. "I used to think you were so altruistic… but now I get that you're not. You're just selfish."

Kenny purses his lips, letting his hand fall. "I didn't used to be."

"What the fuck happened, then?" Stan asks desperately.

Kenny shrugs carelessly, causing Stan's anger to reach an even higher level.

"Say something," Stan spits.

Silence.

"Say something, dammit!" he repeats.

Kenny has the audacity to look mildly ashamed, but he still remains quiet. Wanting an out, he stands up only to have Stan follow him. He grabs the blond by the shoulder and forces him to turn around. When he does, he punches him square in the face. Kenny lets out a sound of shock and crumples to the ground.

"Christ!" Cartman exclaims from the opposite side of the room. "You trynna kill the damn hoodrat? He's 'bout five pounds soaking wet, y'know."

"Fuck!" Stan shouts, angry at himself and angry at everyone in the damn room. He's angry at Cartman for thinking it's so damn funny. He's angry at Kenny for betraying him and he's angry at Kyle for being such a stupid drunk.

"I felt something…" Kenny murmurs, still lying on the floor. His eyes are glassy and when he blinks, a couple tears escape. He sits up and brushes them off quickly, but Stan sees nonetheless and it makes him feel instantly guilty.

"Jesus Christ, Kenny…" he sighs, offering the blond his hand. Kenny accepts it and Stan pulls him to his feet and hugs him. "I'm sorry," he apologizes.

"No…" Kenny makes a choking sound and his shoulders begin shaking. "I am." His voice is muffled by the material of Stan's sweater. "You love him, but you're too shy to act on it… so I did."

"Why, though?" Stan asks, not just _wanting_ answers but _needing_ them. He wants to forgive Kenny.

They break apart and Kenny takes a seat on one of the stairs. He slumps forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm selfish, just like you said."

"I know," Stan says bluntly, "but _why_? Why are you so fucking scared you'll lose us? We're not going anywhere… None of us."

"Yes, you will," Kenny says surely. "You'll all begin dating people. You'll get exclusive. Someday you'll all get married and go places… and I'll still be here in South Park. I can't leave this place."

"Ken, you can do whatever you want," Stan says. "No one is stopping you from leaving this crummy town."

Kenny forces a smile, but it comes out bitter. "Thanks, Stan," he says flatly. It holds no sincerity. "I'm just tired, I guess." He's tired of living and he's tired of dying and he's tired of not having anyone to talk to about the things that really matter. Cartman knows, but he isn't the easiest person to speak with. There's a void in his gut and it keeps getting bigger.

"I'm sorry I hit you," Stan murmurs. "It wasn't right."

"I deserved it, I think," Kenny says. "Anyway… I'm sobering up and I don't want to be sober." He stands up and reaches for his parka, which is hanging off the railing. He sticks his hand into the front pocket and pulls out a little tin. He opens it and inside is a plastic baggy full of some kind of powder.

"What's that?" Stan asks.

"Cocaine," the blond says. "Want any?"

Stan shakes his head.

"Can you come with me, at least?" Kenny asks.

Stan nods, following Kenny into the bathroom. 'He's always so needy…' he thinks to himself, but it's obvious why. Kenny has spent most of his childhood being ignored and abused. It's no wonder he turned out like this.

Kenny starts forming lines on the counter with a little razor blade and once he's good two, he puts the baggy back in the tin and takes out a crumpled dollar bill with shaky hands. "Ugh," he says, wiping his eyes again. "I can't stop crying… I don't know why."

Stan puts a hand on Kenny's head, ruffling his blond hair. Suddenly, he feels even more sympathetic. How can anyone stay mad at Kenny? It's just not possible.

Kenny rolls the dollar bill up and bends over the counter, snorting each line with seasoned ease. When he stands up straight, he wrinkles his nose and rubs it with the back of his hand. "Sure you don't want any?" he asks Stan.

"You know what? Fuck it," Stan relents. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, digging for his house key.

Kenny smiles somewhat lifelessly, handing the brunet the baggy. Stan dips the key inside and collects a small amount of powder onto the head. He raises the key to his nose and snorts it. "Eugh," he shudders once the deed is done. He squeezes his nose with his thumb and pointer finger, sniffing.

"You good?" Kenny asks.

"I'm good," Stan says, putting the key away. Together, they go back downstairs.

Kyle is no longer on the floor. He's crashed on the sofa. He'll probably be in and out for the rest of the night.

"Kyle… he took a really long time to come," Kenny says. "I don't know if it's because he was really drunk or if it's because he was just so turned off at the idea of fucking me… a guy."

"Oh," is all Stan says.

This time, Kenny and Stan are the ones sitting in the love seat. Cartman is still watching cartoons. His eyes are wide yet weary as he stares at the television screen.

Stan tosses an arm around Kenny, who sinks into him and whispers, "Want me to suck your dick?"

"Why?" Stan asks, raising a brow.

"As an apology," Kenny says.

"Well, okay," Stan says, gesturing to his crotch. Like hell he's going to refuse a blowjob from the blowjob king. "Go for it."

Kenny wiggles his eyebrows before getting on his knees in between Stan's lap and reaching for the zipper to his jeans.

"What the fuck are you two doing over there?" Cartman asks, laughing in disbelief.

"You'll see," Kenny says.

"Lucky me," Cartman drawls.

Stan is too high to care that Cartman might be watching him get sucked off and he's too high to care that Kyle is passed out and might wake up to see it all happen. Kenny is good with his hands and he has a talented tongue. It doesn't take long for Stan to get hard. He lets out a soft moan when he feels Kenny's tongue and Cartman is still laughing.

"I'm gonna film this," he says.

"Don't," Stan whines, covering his face with the back of his hand.

A moment later, Kyle stirs and lets out a loud groan.

"You good, Kahl?" Cartman asks as the redhead sits up.

"W'the fuck?" he slurs, nodding towards Stan and Kenny.

In a condescending manner, Cartman gently explains to Kyle what's been happening since he passed out. Meanwhile, Kenny and Stan are in their own little world. "Fuck…" Stan's breathing quickens and Kenny's eyebrows draw together as semen shoots down his throat.

"And the finale…!" Cartman announces with a laugh, phone raised. "I can't wait to show this to everyone."

Kenny hollows his cheeks and pulls away from Stan's dick with a _pop_ before calmly saying, "Liar. You won't show it to anyone. You'll keep it as masturbation fodder, pervert." The blond wipes his mouth and stands up.

Kyle only looks mildly aware as to what just happened.

"Someone should bring Kyle a glass of water," Stan suggests, buttoning his pants. "He looks like he needs to sober up a bit, otherwise he'll probably wake up with an earth-shattering hangover."

Kenny nods sympathetically before jumping to the task. When he returns, he has a full glass of water in hand. Cartman forces the redhead into a sitting position and Kenny hands him the water. "Sip slowly," he requests and Kyle does so. "Also, tell us if you feel sick," Kenny adds. "I don't think any of us are in fit form to clean puke tonight."

"W'time s'it?" Kyle slurs the question.

"Almost one," Kenny says.

"Why d'we all still drink?" Kyle continues. "Somethin' bad always happens when we do…"

"What happened that's so bad?" Kenny asks with a frown.

Kyle doesn't respond. He slowly downs the rest of the water and sets the glass on the counter.

* * *

They continue watching television and when Kyle begins to sober up, he announces, "I'm probably going to hit the hay in a minute, so we should talk about sleeping arrangements."

"I call the guest room," Cartman cuts in.

"I'll sleep in there with Cartman," Kenny volunteers.

"Then I guess you're my bed buddy," Kyle says to his super best friend. He stands up and says, "Goodnight."

"Me and Ken are probably gonna stay down here for a bit longer," Cartman says.

Kyle simply nods, turning to Stan expectantly. "Coming," the brunet says, following Kyle upstairs.

Kyle turns the lights off on their way to his room. Inside, he stops in front of his nightstand, turning his lamp on before flopping onto his bed with a sigh. His shirt rides up and Stan's eyes are immediately drawn to the sliver of skin visible. "Wait… what's this?" he asks, lighting ghosting his fingers across a large scar on Kyle's abdomen.

The redhead pulls his shirt up, propping himself onto an elbow and staring down at his stomach. "Kidney transplant," he chuckles. "Cartman probably has one, too."

"Oh, right…" Stan says. "I nearly forgot about that."

"Good times," Kyle says sarcastically, pulling his shirt back down. "You can borrow something to sleep in if you want, by the way. That's what Kenny did."

"No, it's okay," Stan murmurs. He strips out of his jeans and removes his sweater, leaving on his shorts and t-shirt. He crawls over Kyle, getting on the opposite side of the bed. "Hey, Kyle?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think you'll regret anything in the morning?" he asks.

"Probably not," Kyle admits, turning the lamp off so the room is pitch black. "I mean… I'm pretty lonely lately. I think I would have probably slept with anyone. I feel bad I used Kenny like that, but he promised me it was fine… so I'm really glad it was him and not anyone else."

"Oh," Stan murmurs. A moment later, he feels Kyle's arms worm around him. "What…?"

"Sh," Kyle says soothingly. "You've been down all night. I'm not oblivious… I don't really get why, but you can tell me whenever you're ready, okay?"

Stan chokes up, but refuses to let it show in his voice. "Thanks, Kyle…" he whispers, relaxing in his best friend's hold.

When the room grows silent, sounds from the living room make their way up and they both hear Kenny's whiny moans. "_Oh, fuck me! Ah, ah… Ah! Jesus! Oh, Jesus…!"_

"By the sounds of things," Kyle starts with a poorly stifled snicker, "Kenny found Jesus."

"So, that's why they wanted to stay down there," Stan murmurs with a sigh.

"They better not stain the sofa," is all Kyle says.

Stan forces a laugh, but it comes out sounding hollow.


	4. The start of a dangerous game

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**This is Kyan btw. Sorry I forgot to mention that earlier. I've been on a Kyan kick lately, kind of bored of writing Style for now, but I'm sure I'll go back to it again soon.**

* * *

In the morning, Kyle wakes up in his bed with a hangover, but it's not nearly as catastrophic as he thought it would be. He lets out a pained moan, rolling onto his side. Stan is half asleep next to him, fingers in mouth. Kyle reaches forward and pokes Stan's cheek. His eyebrows draw together and he removes the spit-covered digits from his mouth, opening fluttery eyes.

"Good morning, thumb sucker," Kyle says with a slight smirk.

"G'morning," Stan murmurs back, wiping his fingers on his shirt and dismissing the _nick-name_.

"Hung over?" Kyle asks.

"Nah," Stan admits. "I feel okay… You?"

"Surprisingly, I'm not _too_ hung over," the redhead admits.

"That _is_ surprising," Stan says. "You were beyond smashed last night. You were on the floor cursing the world at one point. Naturally, Cartman filmed much of the night… we'll probably be forced to relive the embarrassment at some point when he decides to pull the videos out."

"Awesome," Kyle mutters sarcastically. "I can't wait."

The two boys get out of bed, exiting the bedroom and moving down the hall. Kyle opens the door to the guest room and spots Cartman and Kenny inside. The blond is curled up against the chubby teenager. "That's almost… cute," Kyle admits, tilting his head to the side. "Aw…"

"Yeah," Stan agrees with a little laugh.

Kyle smiles at the scene before quietly shutting the door. "Come on," he slaps Stan's shoulder. "Let's go downstairs. I'll make you breakfast."

* * *

Craig and his friends had a similar night, only none of them ended up getting naked – just drunk. Every time Clyde gets drunk, he cries and Craig is forced to listen to sob story after sob story. Whether it's about his dead mother, his crush on Bebe, or his jealousy over Kyle's ability to play basketball better than him… Craig wants to tell him how much he doesn't care, but he won't. Clyde deserves more respect from him. Craig understands that and it is the only reason he exhibits as much patients as he does. It's not much, but it could certainly be worse. No one gets to see the soft side of Craig Tucker. No one. Not even his best friend… Well, that's what he'd like to think, but sometimes it happens. Sometimes Craig can't help but slip up. He can't help but show unmasked fear, shock, or sadness. It happens when his pets die. It happens when his parents argue. It happens. Clyde never asks questions, because that's the one golden rule. _Don't_ ask question. When Craig is upset, Clyde knows the worst thing he could possible do is ask why. That would make everything worse. He just has to let things sit until they subside because hell knows Craig never deals with his problems the right way, or _at all_.

This morning, Craig wakes up first. He sits up, glancing down at Clyde who is asleep next to him. They're in the spare bedroom at Token's lavish house, having crashed there the night before. Jason went home, so the three of them weren't forced to squeeze together. That always makes Craig feel pretty fuckin' gay. Token hates sharing a bed and insists that the guest room's bed is large enough for all three of them. Craig, Clyde and Jason would all beg to differ.

Eventually, Clyde's eyes open and he stares up at Craig. "What…?"

"You're drooling," Craig informs him.

"Ugh," Clyde mutters, wiping the corners of his mouth. "What are we doing today?"

"Nothing," Craig says.

"Fun sponge," Clyde retorts.

Craig shoots him a cynical smile – the kind that might make a stranger shiver, but not Clyde. He's used to Craig by now. This is why they're best friends. With all their ups and downs it's always Craig and Clyde, 'til the very end.

A few minutes later, Token enters the room, still in his night clothes and looking like he just rolled out of bed. He likely just did. "Hungry?" he asks.

"No," Craig says.

"I could eat," Clyde shrugs.

"I'm probably going to go home," Craig adds, getting out of bed and grabbing his jacket from up off the floor.

"Okay," Token nods. Craig never stays for long. Token and Clyde walk Craig to the door and wave him off.

Outside, Craig greets the cold mountain air with distaste. He shivers, taking his chullo hat out from his pocket and putting it on, covering his unwashed hair. It's too cold. Too much of anything is a bad thing, in his opinion, no matter what it is.

Craig wets his chapped lips, recalling what happened the night before. He put his mouth to work in a stranger's old pick-up truck and was rewarded with two bottles of cheap rum before heading to Token's. No big deal. Besides, Craig likes to drink. He likes to feel numb. He revels in that feeling - the perfect amount of dissociation and detachment. It's something he tries to maintain, even in his sober state of mind.

On his way home, he stops to get a coffee. Unfortunately, the only coffee shop in South Park is Tweek Bros, but that god-awful shit is still better than nothing.

Inside, he immediately spots Tweek. He lets out a sigh of irritation as he approaches the cash register.

"Hi!" Tweek greets him in a shriek.

Craig closes his eyes, letting out a sound of impatience. "Yeah, can I get a small coffee. Black."

Tweek nods frantically, turning around and getting what Craig asked for. A minute later, he turns back around and shakily places the cup on the counter. "That's a dollar seventy five!" he shrieks some more.

"Christ," Craig mutters. "Shut the fuck up, will yah?"

Tweek frowns. "Sorry," he says, suddenly sounding small. "I'm sorry…"

Craig rolls his eyes. "Fucking hell, it's nothing to apologize over, just stop yelling…"

"I can't help it!" Tweek exclaims.

"If you say so," Craig murmurs, digging the change out of his pocket and handing it to the shaky blond. When he turns to leave, he hears Tweek say his name.

"Wait, Craig…" he pleads in a _slightly_ calmer tone.

"What?" Craig asks, turning around.

"Let's do something," he requests suddenly and strangely. "Please?"

Craig raises an eyebrow. "Why…?" he asks with mild disdain. "You're at work and apart from that, we're not friends."

"But we used to be… and I miss it…" Tweek admits.

Craig is at a loss, unsure of how to react to something like that. He's socially awkward. Anyone who spends a minute with him will figure that out. He doesn't know _how_ to react, _when_ to react and sometimes he doesn't even know _why_ to react. He acts selfishly, often hurting other people because of his bluntly rude statements. Sometimes he hurts people when he doesn't even mean to.

"No," he says flatly. "That seems like it might be more trouble than it's worth."

"Please?" Tweek pleads once more.

"No."

"Please?" he pleads again, louder this time.

Craig's eyebrow twitches in irritation. "Fine," he relents, not wanting to cause a scene. He doesn't need any more trouble.

Tweek gives him a shaky smile. "When?"

"Fuck, I don't know," Craig shrugs. "It's Saturday… What time do you get off?"

"Five!" Tweek tells him.

"You can drop by my place after, okay?" he says. "Do you still remember where I live?"

Tweek nods happily. "See you then!"

"Uh-huh," Craig says carelessly, turning to leave. 'So fucking weird,' he thinks to himself. He hasn't been friends with Tweek since they were ten and he can't help but wonder why on earth the blond would try to be his friend again all of the sudden. Nonetheless, he shakes it off. It's too much trouble thinking about things that don't matter. Craig sips his bitter coffee and makes his way home.

Upon arrival, he's greeted by an annoying sister and angry parents. Of course, the only time they agree with one another is when it comes to Craig's bad behaviour.

"Where were you, young man?" Mrs. Tucker demands.

"You were out all night!" Mr. Tucker exclaims. "You're sixteen for fuck's sake. Sixteen year olds shouldn't be doing this kind of shit."

Ruby is sitting on the sofa, listening to the fight pleasingly. She always finds it amusing when her brother gets into trouble and it happens so often. It's better than reality TV.

Craig doesn't answer them. Instead, he flips them off. They return the gesture and then Ruby gets in on the action, snickering to herself.

"You're grounded," his father says.

"No, I'm not," Craig says, removing his boots.

"Yes. You. Are." His words are pointed this time as he jabs his son in the chest with each syllable.

Craig turns away and goes upstairs. He turns into the bathroom and brushes his teeth, foregoing showering for today. Back in his room, he flings his hat and coat off, carelessly tossing them onto the floor. He knows his parents love him in their own way, but it makes Craig want to scoff because they don't know the first damn thing about him. He can't help but wonder what they'd do if they found out he was one of South Park's infamous young hookers. Would they put a leash on him? Would they be disappointed? Would they kick him out or keep him in?

'Annoying,' he thinks to himself. 'Why is everyone so damn annoying?'

He refuses to believe it's because they care.

* * *

Around 5:30 PM, Tweek arrives at the Tucker residence. Craig opens the door, wordlessly allowing him inside. He's still in his work clothes, so Craig assumes he didn't bother stopping at home first. "My parents are pissed," he mutters, "so we better be quiet. Is it even _possible_ for you to be quiet?"

Tweek nods, removing his boots and coat, and the two of them retreat to Craig's bedroom. "It hasn't changed much from when we were kids," Tweek admits, surveying the area.

"Whatever," Craig shrugs. "What do you want to do?" He flops onto his bed and opens his laptop to provide himself with a distraction.

"Whatever you want," Tweek says, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

Put on the spot, Craig's eyes shift back and forth around the room before staring back down at the computer screen. He doesn't really know what to say now. "Why are you here?" he asks. "Why, after six years, do you want to be my friend again?"

"It's something I regret," Tweek explains, twitching slightly. "I've always wanted to ask you about it. What made you grow to hate me so much?"

"Tsk," Craig clicks his tongue. "I never _hated_ you. I just think you're annoying. You're too loud. Loud people piss me off."

"Would you prefer me like this?" Tweek asks. "Quiet?"

"Well, yeah," Craig says. "Quiet is better."

"Okay," Tweek says with a nod. "What else?"

"What do you mean?" Craig asks, raising an eyebrow. "Are you offering to censor yourself around me?"

"I'm offering to… mute some of my more extreme personality traits to the best of my ability," Tweek rephrases. "I'll try, at least."

"Wow," Craig deadpans. "Am I really that fuckin' special?"

Tweek nods. "Like I told you… I miss you."

"Are you a fag?" Craig asks bluntly. "It's fine if you are, I don't give a shit. I'm just wondering."

"Y-yes," Tweek nearly chokes on his own spit as he stutters out the simple and crude three letter word.

"Thought so," Craig snorts. "What? Are you gay for me or something?"

Tweek's eyes are wide.

"I see," Craig says slowly. "Well, I guess it'd be pretty shitty of me to be a complete asshole to someone who has feelings for me, right? What am I supposed to do in a situation like this?"

"Be honest," Tweek tells him.

Craig presses his lips together to form a flat line. He gives the shaky blond a blank stare. "Well," he says. "I've never got a confession like this before. I don't know what to say."

"Go out with me," Tweek requests.

"I'm not into you," Craig informs him.

"You never know until you try," Tweek urges.

"I'm not a fag," the brunet adds.

"Your extracurricular activities say otherwise," the blond retorts pointedly.

Craig smiles cynically at Tweek, who feels like his very soul is being peered into. He glances away after a moment. "You've done it, too," the brunet finally says.

"Yeah, but I'm not the one claiming heterosexuality," Tweek murmurs. "If you ask me, not many people are perfectly straight, Craig. I doubt you're one of them."

"Money is money," he answers simply.

Tweek rolls his eyes at that. "Yeah, right."

Craig dismisses the comment, instead, asking, "When did you realize you wanted to fuck me or whatever?"

"A while ago," Tweek says. "I just didn't know how to tell you… but then you walked into the shop today and I was given the perfect chance."

"I see," Craig murmurs. "Well… what now?"

"Go out with me," Tweek requests again.

"How do we seal the deal?" Craig asks, definitely not saying _yes_ but not saying _no_ either.

"We can kiss," Tweek suggests.

But in all honesty, Craig has never been kissed and he's never kissed anyone. Well, apart from Clyde, but those are just friend-kisses. This is much different than kissing a friend. "I haven't showered in, like, two days," he decides to admit. "I smell pretty rancid once you get close enough."

"That's okay," Tweek insists. He shifts closer to where Craig is seated, closing the laptop and pushing it aside.

For the first time in Craig's life, he looks at Tweek – _really_ looks at him. His hair is a bird's nest, stuck up in unexplainably odd angles. His clothes are in disarray, with half of his white shirt tucked into the black slacks and the other half hanging free. There's a button missing on his shirt and it's done up wrong. There are too many bandages on his fingers. He's skinny to the point where he's a little bit scrawny. There are bags under his and his skin is sickly and sallow… but his face looks nice when he's not panicking and twitching. His eyes are the color of coffee, which Craig can't help but think is especially fitting. His lips are pink and they look soft and Craig is realizing that he wouldn't mind kissing them. So, he murmurs a quiet, "Fine."

Tweek doesn't hesitate to move forward and Craig is beginning to see that Tweek isn't as pathetic and shy as he acts. Maybe it's a façade. Old perverts like that kind of coy shit. Craig feels Tweek's lips cover his own. He tilts his head to the side before slowly closing his eyes. That's what they do in movies, right? They close their eyes? He allows his lips to part and Tweek's tongue makes its way into his mouth. It's an unfamiliar sensation, but Craig doesn't hate it.

Once they part, Tweek hovers close to him – so close their noses are nearly touching. When Craig opens his eyes, he's staring into the confines of the blond's coffee colored irises.

"So, are we boyfriends now?" Tweek asks with light humour.

"Yes?" Craig shrugs.

Tweek smiles and Craig can't help but think he looks nice. His whole face lights up when he smiles and he doesn't look as sick. "What now?"

"Uh, movie?" Craig suggests.

"Sure!" Tweek agrees.

Craig grabs his laptop once more and opens it, looking through his list of illegally downloaded torrents. Craig doesn't like much, but he can appreciate a decent movie now and then. "Have any preferences?" he asks the blond, who simply shakes his head in response. Craig puts on _Inception_ and as the movie starts, Tweek moves and sits next to him. He lays his head on Craig's shoulder, watching the laptop screen. Craig doesn't mind. 'It feels nice…' he thinks to himself. 'To be this close to someone… it feels kind of nice.'

There are signals going off in the back of his head, trying to warn him not to get too close because he might end up getting hurt. But for once in Craig's life, he chooses to ignore them. He'll take Clyde's advice and relax. He can hear Clyde's voice echoing, _"Calm down and maybe something good will happen for a change. You can't always be so negative."_ Maybe he's right.

* * *

After the movie is done, Craig does the proper thing and walks Tweek to the door. They share another kiss, but briefer than their last. Tweek turns away afterward, dropping the happy act and allowing the malignant ache to spread throughout every cavern of his inner and outer being. "Shit," he says to himself. Craig made it _so_ easy. Too easy. He thought the stoic brunet would've put up at least a bit more fight than that, especially since he isn't one for romance.

With a sickening amount of guilt, Tweek pulls out his cellphone and texts Eric Cartman –

_Craig said yes. _


	5. Group therapy: One good thing

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Sorry this is taking so long. I'm uninspired :(**

* * *

The rest of the week goes by normally – a few fights here and a few fights there. Tweek and Craig have been taking things slow and keeping things a secret, but Clyde knows something is up. He's not good at reading people, but he knows Craig well enough to know there's something different about him. However, each time he pries, Craig shuts him down with the flip of his finger.

The news of their relationship thrilled Cartman and fuelled his sadism. He's impatiently waiting for Craig to fall head over heels. Then it will all come crumbling down when they reveal it was just a big joke and Tweek doesn't truly care about him. Stan is warier than Cartman, but he's still going along with the plan to warm Craig's icy heart. Kyle and Kenny, on the other hand, think the joke might be going too far, but they're waiting it out.

Kyle hasn't acknowledged the fact that he slept with Kenny, but that isn't to say he doesn't remember. Kyle remembers. He remembers with perfect clarity every sound Kenny let out and the way the blond felt beneath him. No one has mentioned it and it will likely stay that way until they find themselves drunk again. When the boys woke up, welcoming hang overs, the night's events were pushed aside. Cartman, Kyle and Stan all forced themselves to forget that they all had Kenny that night. Kenny, on the other hand, is still forcing himself to forget about the guilt that followed him around after he slept with Kyle. He doesn't want to feel that guilt. He doesn't want to upset Stan. Stan likes Kyle. Maybe it's love. Kenny doesn't know, but he does know that what he did was wrong. He knew it before it even happened, but he still allowed the events to play out. Now he can't get rid of the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It's a dull ache, but it's there. For once, Kenny isn't revelling in the fact that he's feeling something other than nothing.

* * *

When Friday arrives, the boys are all forced into Mr. Mackey's office and once again forced to sit in those little kid chairs. This time, they're arranged differently. Craig, Clyde, Token and Jason all sit on one side while Stan, Kyle, Kenny and Eric sit on the opposite side.

"Today," Mr. Mackey starts, "we'll be working on some friendship building exercises."

"Fuckin' gay," Cartman mutters under his breath.

"You'll each take a turn," he continues. "I want you all to find one good thing about your schoolyard rivals and tell us what it is."

"This is fuckin' dumb," Cartman pipes up.

"No one cares what you think, Eric, m'kay," Mr. Mackey says. "Now behave."

Cartman scoffs, slumping in his chair and crossing his arms.

"You just got put in your place," Kyle says.

"Jew," Cartman mutters warningly.

"Now let's get started," Mr. Mackey says, clapping his hands together. "Stan, you can go first."

Stan presses his lips together in thought, eying each one of the boys sitting across from him – Craig, Token, Clyde and Jason. It is going to be difficult complimenting them. Craig is emotionally stifled, socially awkward and perhaps a sociopath. Clyde is dumb as a rock. Jason is ugly as sin and Token is a follower. Where to start? "Uh," Stan pauses. "Your teeth… aren't _that_ crooked."

Craig wrinkles his nose at Stan's attempted compliment.

"M'kaaay…" Mr. Mackey says slowly.

"Uh," Stan muses again, "Token, you're pretty smart." It's perfectly clear how forced the words are.

"Thanks," Token says in a mutter.

"Clyde… you're kind of good at basketball," Stan continues, "and Jason… uh… I dunno. You got cool shoes on today."

After more muttered thank yous, Mr. Mackey says, "Let's alternate sides, m'kay. Craig, you can go next."

Craig looks Stan up and down, eyes narrowing. "I can't do this," he says, glancing at Mr. Mackey. "This is so fucking stupid. Why do I have to say good things about someone who treats me like shit and vice versa?"

"It's an exercise, Craig," Mr. Mackey explains warily. "Just try it. We're trying to change minds and promote friendship."

Craig chews on the inside of his cheek in an attempt to repress his irritation. "Fine," he mutters a moment later, staring back at Stan. "Um… your shirt… Your shirt is blue…" he states, trailing off.

"Astute observation," Stan snorts, crossing his arms.

"Well… things suddenly got awkward as fuck," Cartman adds.

"I'm bad at this shit," Craig says flatly.

"Come on, Craig. Just try. All you need to do is say one good thing about Stan, Kyle, Eric and Kenny," Mr. Mackey urges, slowly losing patience.

"Fine," Craig bites. "Stan, I think you're pretty fucking rad. Kyle, you've got great hair. Cartman, you're not fat at all and Kenny, you're not a complete whore." His voice is dripping with cynicism and insincerity.

Dead silence.

"M'kay… Let's try to be a little more genuine next time," Mr. Mackey says. "Go ahead, Kyle."

"Right," Kyle murmurs. "All right, Craig, you have nice eyes. Clyde, I always get the upper hand but you've got a mean right hook. Token, you're intellect rivals mine and I can admire that. Uh, Jason… yeah, Stan is right. You're wearing pretty cool shoes."

Jason raises an eyebrow, glancing down at his Air Jordans. "Thanks…"

"Very nice, Kyle," Mr. Mackey says. "Token?"

"Stan," Token starts, "I respect that you admit you lack the understanding when it comes to dealing with racism because you're white. Kyle, I respect your intellect as well. Cartman, I'm not going to say anything good about you because you're a fat, racist pig –"

"I'm not fat," Cartman interjects. "I'm ripped and sweet."

"My ass," Token mutters before finishing, "Kenny, you probably have the best personality out of all your friends. You're not a fighter because you never swing your fists. Don't think I haven't noticed."

Kenny softens visibly at that, but he doesn't respond. He shares a meaningful look with Token and simply nods his gratitude, not bothering to disagree and tell Token he isn't as sweet as he seems.

"Good, good," Mr. Mackey says. "Eric?"

"Craig, I would really love to see you cry," Cartman starts, not hesitating to let his sadistic streak show. "I think it would be even greater than seeing Kahl cry."

Kyle scoffs and Craig's lips part. "Are you fucking _kidding_ me?" the stoic brunet deadpans.

"No," Cartman says in a very serious tone. "I would love it so much. It would be one of my fondest memories."

"Well, fuck you!" Craig spits, raising his voice and his middle finger. "I don't cry, so sorry to tell you that your little dream won't come true, sicko."

Cartman smirks before continuing. "Token, I don't hate you because you're black… you're black because I hate you. Clyde, we used to be friends and you were pretty annoying, so I'm glad I got rid of you. Jason, I don't care about you enough to come up with anything."

"Hey!" Clyde protests.

"Uuuuh…" Mr. Mackey is at a loss for words. "M'kay, Eric… Those weren't really compliments."

"Sure they were," Cartman insists. "They were just a little backhanded."

Mr. Mackey lets out a sigh, closing his eyes briefly and trying to calm down. Yelling at them certainly isn't going to do any good. "Fine. Go ahead, Clyde."

"Okay," Clyde says. "Stan, I admire that you're an animal rights activist and Kyle, I admire your academic determination. I'm not going to say anything nice about Cartman because he insulted me… Um, but Kenny, you've got a pretty hot girlfriend and I'm jealous."

Kenny snickers at that. "She's not my girlfriend, though. Do you like her?"

"It's all he ever fucking talks about," Craig mutters and Clyde flushes.

"Bebe doesn't like shy boys, Clyde," Kenny teases lightly. "If you want to be with her, you better not act too green."

"Noted," Clyde mumbles.

"Good, good," Mr. Mackey says. "See? You just had a civil conversation."

"That's because I'm friendly to everyone," Kenny grins.

"You boys can take a lesson from Kenny, m'kay."

"Ass kisser," Cartman mumbles.

The blond winks at him and retorts, "No, if I recall correctly… that's you."

"Ohoh?" Token question with a laugh.

"Anyway!" Cartman snaps. "Who's next?"

"Jason," Mr. Mackey says.

"Right," the brunet mutters. "Okay, Stan. You definitely know your way around girls. That's pretty admirable. Kyle, you're a genius but when you constantly try to one-up everyone, it gets old. No one cares that your IQ is above average. Cartman, you're fat and unimportant. Deal with it."

"I'm ripped and sweet," Cartman says for the second time. Meanwhile, Kyle is seething and grinding his teeth together.

"But quite frankly, Kenny," Jason continues, "you gross me out."

"Why?" the blond asks, blinking innocently even though he knows exactly where the conversation is headed.

"You're a slut with no fucking standards and I think that's pretty gross," he says simply. "You're also really whiny and clingy from what I see."

"I'm a slut," Kenny murmurs, seeing how the word tastes on his tongue. "Funny how you're making it your business even though, in the end, what I do with my life and my body is _my_ business and not yours. Why get worked up over it? Funny… you're dubbing me a slut with no standards, but I still wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole. What does that say about you? You must be incredibly unsavory if even_ I_ don't want to go near you."

"I don't _want_ you near me," Jason sneers, caught in his own trap.

"Everyone wants me," Kenny says with confidence, some of which might be facetious. "Whether just to say they had me, or for keeps… people want me. You're probably just jealous."

Jason scoffs. "Hardly."

"Okay, boys," Mr. Mackey cuts in before things get too heated. "That's enough. Let's keep it PG."

"Asshole," Kenny murmurs to the mouthy brunet.

Before Jason can react, Token has a hold on the back of his shirt, preventing him from throwing his angry fists. Jason towers over Kenny, like most people, and would easily turn the blond into another bloody mess. Kenny sits back down, crossing his arms. "I guess it's my turn now, then? Well, I'm not going to say anything good about Jason because he's proven he doesn't deserve to hear good words from me… but I'll talk about the rest of you. Craig, I'll dismiss the _whore_ comment. You're handsome, even though you don't see it."

"How do you know that?" Craig asks in a mutter.

"I just do," Kenny says simply, winking somewhat suggestively. "I know lots of things about everyone in this room. Secrets."

"Unsettling," Clyde adds.

Kenny smiles wryly. "Clyde, let me give you a little advice okay? A little confidence goes a long way. You never know, maybe Bebe feels the same way. Last but not least, Token. You're pretty nice! I've decided that I like you."

Token chuckles at that. "Okay, cool."

Kenny's smile widens and he glances at Mr. Mackey, who says, "M'kay. That's all for today boys. Clearly we still have a few issues to work out, but some of you have made progress. We'll continue next Friday."

This time, the boys leave the room with less pushing and shoving than last time.

* * *

"What a stupid exercise," Kyle murmurs once they leave the school. "If a compliment is forced out like that, it's impossible for it to be sincere."

Kenny and Stan nod their agreement while Cartman only shrugs.

"Jason is a fucking ass," Kyle adds. "I didn't know that about him."

"No one really knows anything about him," Kenny snorts. "He's just kind of there… but clearly he's an asshole."

"We learned that today," Kyle murmurs. "He's a dudebro neckbeard."

"Who the fuck does that fag think he is, anyway?" Cartman asks angrily. "He doesn't just get to say shit like that. He doesn't even know you."

"You're being oddly protective, Eric," Kenny simpers, smiling up at him.

"Ah, shut the fuck up," Cartman says. "I'm the only one who gets to call you shit like that. Ain't that right, princess?"

"Cute," Kenny coos sarcastically.

"Jason is a total _bro_," Stan cuts in. "It's pretty gross."

"If he's so nasty to me I shudder to think about his expectations towards the ladies," Kenny shakes his head.

Stan snorts. "Wendy should put him in his place."

"Crazy dyke," Cartman mutters.

"Watch it," Stan warns.

"What?" Cartman asks innocently. "You're not dating her anymore, so who cares?"

"She's still my friend, fat-ass," Stan says with a sigh. "Be nice."

Cartman rolls his eyes, muttering something about _damn hippies_. The other boys ignore him. They part ways when they reach the main road. Stan and Kyle go up the street while Cartman and Kenny go down.

Once Cartman and Kenny are far enough away, Stan turns to Kyle and gives him a pointed look.

"What?" Kyle asks with a knowing sigh.

"It's been a week," Stan says. "Shouldn't we all talk about how we're sleeping with the same person?"

"I'm not _sleeping_ with him," Kyle says indignantly. "I _slept_ with him. Once. That's it. It was a one-time thing. There won't be any repetitions."

Stan scoffs. "Yeah, that's what I said, too… but he has methods of roping you back in and you'll want it."

"I'm straight," Kyle continues to insist. "The only reason I did Kenny is because he was there, I was drunk and we were both horny. Fuck, I told you already. I probably would've slept with anyone."

"Even me?" Stan asks before he can stop himself.

Kyle raises an eyebrow and it's uncomfortably silent until he finally says, "I don't know… yeah, maybe."

"Cartman?" Stan asks in a slight attempt to cover up the potential of Kyle finding out his feelings are less than platonic.

"Fuck no," Kyle laughs awkwardly. "I was drunk as a sailor, but even in that state I wouldn't go near the lard-ass."

Stan snickers at that. Kyle stares ahead as they walk and Stan watches him – the curve of his mouth, the definition of his jaw, his prominent nose, his grass-green eyes and the palest skin. Kyle is handsome. Perhaps that's an understatement – he's got a kind of beauty that's boyish and completely unconventional. Stan can't help but admire it. He's always loved that about Kyle. He's always loved Kyle.


	6. Falling

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

* * *

It's late on Friday night when Tweek shows up to Craig's house. He's shaking as he forces his legs to carry him up the driveway. He feels a panic attack coming on and he's trying so desperately to calm down, to swallow his fear and his insecurities and his doubt. He knows his way around men, but teenaged boys are another ballpark. He doesn't know what Craig wants and even if he did, he wouldn't know when Craig wanted it.

When he knocks on the door, he takes a deep breath – a calm breath. When Craig answers, he's wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a grey t-shirt with a hole in the chest, exposing a small sliver of pale skin.

Tweek smiles at him, leaning forward and pecking him on the lips.

"My family is gone out," Craig says, closing the front door. He wants to get sex out of the way as soon as possible. He drops the hint and Tweek understands exactly what it means. He's no longer afraid. He removes his boots and jacket, hanging it on the railing and together the two boys go upstairs. "You're fine with it, right?" Craig asks, staring at the shaky blond.

Tweek wishes he wouldn't ask. He wishes Craig wouldn't be so careful and kind because he doesn't deserve it. Nonetheless, he simply nods. "I'm not a virgin."

"Oh," is all Craig says. "I am."

"That's okay," Tweek says, hiding his surprise. He's never taken anyone's virginity before. For some people, it's a special thing. It makes him feel even worse about lying to Craig. This lie is going to build and build and build until Tweek can't take it anymore. He's going to have to try so hard not to slip up.

When they enter Craig's room, Tweek turns the lights on, glancing at Craig. "Or would you prefer them off?"

"I don't care," Craig says. In all honesty, he would, but he isn't going to play shy even though he feels it. He's nervous.

Tweek simply nods, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. With shaky fingers, he slowly begins to undo them before shrugging out of the shirt. Next, he reaches the button to his jeans before shrugging out of them as well. "Condom?" he asks.

Craig nods slowly. He bought a box earlier that week, just to be safe. He reaches into his nightstand and pulls one out, staring at it and suddenly feeling incredibly uncomfortable. He is going to have to get undressed. To have sex, you usually get naked. A blush spreads its way across his face. He takes a deep breath, trying to force it away. When he finally turns around, Tweek is standing bare in front of him. He offers Craig a knowing smile, holding out his hand. When Craig gives him the condom he gently guides Craig towards the bed.

"Lie back," he softly commands.

Craig does, still fully dressed.

"Lift your hips," Tweek instructs.

Again, Craig does and Tweek pulls his shorts and boxers down just below his hip bones. Sure, Craig has given quite a few blowjobs but he's never bared himself to another person. Not once. That's the rule he's made up for himself and he vowed always to follow it… but he knows now is different. He's not making money. This isn't a job. This is a relationship – a different kind of work.

Tweek begins touching him the way he might touch himself and when he feels Craig go hard in his hand, he rolls the condom on with ease. "Do you have, erm…?" Tweek trails off.

"Oh, right," Craig says, reaching an arm toward his nightstand grabbing a bottle. Tweek takes it, pouring a decent amount of the substance into his palm.

Craig watches as Tweek's hand moves up and down his shaft. He's experienced, Craig can tell. He's experienced in ways Craig isn't.

Tweek wipes his sticky hand on his thigh, placing a palm on Craig's stomach to steady himself as he lifts his body and slowly sinks into the brunet's lap. He closes his eyes, relaxing his muscles and trying to get used to the sensation. It's been a while since he's been with someone like this.

"Are you okay?" Craig asks quietly, touching the blond's thigh.

"Yeah," Tweek says, wishing Craig wouldn't ask. He doesn't want the brunet to start to care for him because this is all a big lie. He opens his eyes, staring down at Craig and beginning to roll his hips. Even now, he's shaking. Craig notices.

'_Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry_,' Tweek keeps thinking to himself, repeating the words.

* * *

Soon Tweek is panting, bouncing on Craig's lap like a sexually crazed crack head – though that's not too far off the mark.

When he comes, it hurts, but the pain isn't purely physical. His heart feels heavy. His mind aches. His ribcage tightens unpleasantly and his body shudders. He moans, because that's what he signed up for, but deep down there's no pleasure. Just guilt. He continues riding Craig until the brunet comes and he continues riding him throughout his orgasm.

Craig is quiet, only letting out a sharp breath. His hands are still on Tweek's thighs and the blond can feel his nails digging into his sallow skin. He doesn't mind. In fact, he welcomes it. He deserves it, after all. He deserves worse for playing with Craig's emotions like this.

When it's over, he slowly lifts himself off Craig's lap and flops onto the bed next to him. A moment later, Craig stands up, throwing the condom out and wiping the tip of his cock with a tissue.

"You didn't want to take off your clothes," Tweek says as Craig hands him a tissue. "I could tell."

"Sometimes I get pimples on my shoulders," Craig tells the blond out of the blue, pulling his shorts and pants back up before lying down again. It's not the exact reason, but it's still something he's grown to be insecure about.

Tweek laughs, cleaning off. "I –nng–! I don't care about that," he says honestly. "We're teenagers. It's normal. I'm not shallow, so don't worry. Only losers care about that kind of thing. A sensible person can look past a few flaws. Everyone has flaws."

"I'm really fucking ugly," Craig adds, taking the tissue from Tweek and throwing it in the garbage.

"You're not," Tweek tells him. He's not just saying it – he believes it and he finds it somewhat relieving finally being able to talk to Craig without lying. "I like how you look."

"Really?" Craig asks in a murmur.

"I do," Tweek promises. "You're so boyishly pretty. You have a nice jaw. You probably have a nice body, too. By what I've seen, at least."

"Hm," Craig muses.

"Will I ever get to see all of it?" Tweek asks.

"Maybe next time," Craig says, playing it off like it's no big deal, but deep down he's worried. What if Tweek laughs? What if he scoffs? What if he tells his friends about how horrifying and gruesome Craig Tucker is under the clothes? He acts vain, but he's a little bit insecure. Vanity is often a cover up for self-esteem issues. Knowing that makes Craig feel like just another cliché.

Tweek sits up, still stark nude, and Craig can't help but wonder how he's so comfortable in his own skin. He's like that trashy McCormick kid. A moment later, Tweek jumps off the bed and turns the lights off. Once the room darkens, he gets back onto the bed.

"Now undress," Tweek commands.

"What?" Craig deadpans.

"Take off your clothes," Tweek says. "It's dark in your room, it's dark outside and the curtains are blocking out the moonlight. It will be too dim for me to see right. I won't look, I'll just touch. I'll look with my hands."

Craig sucks in a breath, holding it for a moment before finally sighing, "Fine… Okay."

He stands up and removes his t-shirt before doing the same with his shorts and boxers. When he's rigid and bare, Tweek gets to his feet and stands in front of him. He gets on his tip toes and kisses Craig deeply. "It's okay," he says soothingly, whispering the words into Craig's mouth. He places both his palms on Craig's sturdy sternum, brushing past his nipples. He runs his hands down Craig's chest and down his abdomen, feeling the skin taut over muscles. He feels the trail off hair leading from his navel to his crotch, moving to touch his hip-bones. His moves his hands up Craig's back, reaching his shoulders.

His hands are soft on Craig's skin and the brunet feels like he's in a daze. Everything in hazy. He's never been touched like this before. It makes him feel strange in ways he can't explain, but he swallows the lump in his throat because Craig Tucker _doesn't_ cry.

Tweek takes both his hands and pulls him back onto the bed. Craig lies down and Tweek drapes himself over the brunet. "You're not ugly, Craig," he says gently. "You're a lot of things, but ugly definitely isn't one of them. I promise."

"Okay," is all Craig says. He's not sure what else to say. "Why are you being so nice?"

"Because I like you," Tweek explains.

"But why?" Craig asks. "I'm a jackass. I was never nice to you. The first time we met, we beat each other up. Our friendship was pretty rocky until I decided to end it."

"That's okay," Tweek says. "You're a bit selfish. You don't really understand people."

"It just sounds like you're making up excuses for me," Craig points out.

"Maybe I am," Tweek admits, "but either way, I'm willing to forget about what happened in the past and move forward. Are you?"

"I guess," Craig says. "Should I say I'm sorry?"

"Only if you are," Tweek says, "but I have a feeling you're not."

"You're right about me being selfish," Craig says.

"It's not always intentional, though… is it?" Tweek guesses.

"Maybe," Craig murmurs.

"Why is that?"

"Another time..." he says. "Ask me another time."

Tweek rolls off of him so they're side by side. He curls into Craig and closes his eyes. "When are you kicking me out?"

"Whenever," the brunet answers carelessly before offhandedly adding, "You know… you're less twitchy these days."

"I'm on a medication," Tweek reveals. "It calms me down and helps me focus."

"Ritalin?" Craig snorts.

"And a lot of pot," Tweek admits.

"You smoke?" Craig asks.

"Yeah," the blond says.

"Wanna smoke a bowl right now?" Craig offers.

"You have some?"

"Always," the brunet says and they both sit up. Craig doesn't turn the light on. He feels for the nightstand and digs into drawer. He grabs a plastic bag of weed as well as his lighter and clear, glass pipe. Tweek waits giddily as Craig's long finger work. It's dark, but they can both see the faint shapes of one another. When the pipe is filled, Craig glances at the blond. "Want the first go?"

Tweek smiles, taking the pipe and putting it to his lips as Craig lights it. He inhales and holds the smoke in, allowing it to fill his lungs.

It's easier being around Craig than Tweek initially thought it would be. He's not as scary as everyone thinks. He's not as cruel as everyone thinks. He's not as heartless as everyone thinks. Then again, he always knew that. There's a kindness in him, but he keeps it buried. He keeps it hidden and only shows it to those he deems worthy. Today, he is showing Tweek kindness, though stifled, and it makes him feel even worse. He doesn't want Craig to treat him kindly. He wants Craig to be the badass everyone thinks he is. That way, he won't feel as bad for playing with his emotions like this. Then again, maybe it's not a complete lie. Maybe Tweek is beginning to feel something for the stoic teenager. That thought scares him even more.

* * *

Tweek left the Tucker residence around 10PM. His parents were home by then, but they didn't ask questions. They simply smiled and said, "It's nice to see you two hanging out again." Tweek smiled back, but didn't respond. His voice got caught in his throat.

Right now, he's walking home. He decides to call Cartman and try to reason with him. Once the sadistic teenager picks up, Tweek says, "I don't want to do this… I can't."

"_Why the fuck not?"_ Cartman sounds outraged.

"Because he's nice," Tweek says. "He's treating me well and I don't want to hurt him. I want to treat him well, too."

Cartman cackles cruelly. "_Do you like him? I bet you do, you fuckin' schizo. Naturally you'd fall for the first person to give you a little attention_."

Tweek frowns. "It's not like that…"

"_Whatever_," Cartman snorts. "_Do what you want, Tweek… But fuck us over and the truth will come out soon enough, be sure of that_."

Tweek hangs up, but he knows Cartman is right. The truth always comes out in the end. It's inevitable.


	7. Less than perfect

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**I've been lazy as hell with posting. **

* * *

Kenny enters the chubby teenager's bedroom and grins as he unzips his parka. "Hey," he greets, spotting Cartman sitting in a chair in front of his desk. Arctic Monkeys' "Arabella" starts playing from his iTunes playlist and Kenny bites his lip.

"Hey," Cartman echoes from his seat. "What's up?"

"I like this song," he announces, tossing his parka onto the floor. "It makes me wicked horny."

"Everything makes you horny," Cartman points out.

"True," the blond admits.

Cartman snickers at that, watching as Kenny begins to sway back and forth to the music. "Ken," he says the blond teenager's name. "What are you doing?"

"Sh, sit still," Kenny whispers, closing his eyes and reaching for the rim of his t-shirt. "I'll give you a show."

Dry mouthed and turned on, Cartman watches as the hoodrat begins to give him a strip tease. It's times like this that make Cartman truly appreciate Kenny. He hasn't had to watch porn in a long time thanks to his availability. It's almost as if the blond's entire existence were created for the sole purpose of fucking. It's his greatest talent and the thing he likes doing most… but Cartman also knows that Kenny is so much more than that; however he wouldn't say it aloud. He doesn't want to sound too faggy.

As Kenny's final article of clothing is removed, Cartman feels his dick twitch. The blond approaches him and turns around, dipping low and grinding his ass against the chubby teenager's crotch.

"Damn," Cartman murmurs hoarsely.

When the song stops, Kenny stands and turns around, staring at him. Cartman brings a hand up and touches the flat plane of Kenny's stomach. "What now?" Kenny asks. "Take what you want, Eric."

"I'm hard," Cartman mentions. "You gonna take care of it and finish what you started?"

"If that's what you wish," the blond says with a little smile. He turns and opens one of the desk drawers, reaching inside. He's done this enough times by now to know where Cartman keeps all the supplies – condoms, lube, dildos and other _fun_ things. He grabs the lube and walks across the room, jumping onto Cartman's bed. He opens the cap, pouring a small amount on his fingers before setting it on the nightstand.

Cartman watches as the shameless blond lies on his back and spreads his legs, allowing his fingers to travel further and further south. Cartman unzips his pants, getting his dick out and stroking his erection.

Kenny lets out a soft moan, digging his fingers deeper and deeper inside of himself. "Eric…" he whines, biting his lip. "Eric… hurry…"

"Want some cheese with that _whine_?" Cartman asks before standing up and finally approaching the needy blond.

* * *

Meanwhile, Stan and Kyle are at a party. They came together, yes, but Kyle got pretty drunk and wandered off. Stan let him, not wanting to seem clingy. He finds it strange because Kyle has been drinking a lot lately – something he hardly ever does. Stan is the drinker. Kyle is the smart one – taking care of his boys when they go overboard. Now it seems that Stan has taken on that role.

"Where is he…?" Stan murmurs to himself, hesitantly checking rooms and hoping he won't walk in on anything raunchy.

As Stan makes his way up to the third floor, Kyle stumbles through a door at the end of the hallway. His jeans are undone and Stan immediately notices the stain on his black t-shirt. It doesn't take a genius to understand what just happened. "Kyle?" he says the redhead's name.

Kyle lets out a drunken laugh. "Hi, Stan," he coos at the brunet, nearly tripping on his way down the hall. "Fuck…!"

"You have come on your t-shirt," Stan tells him flatly once they're standing in front of one another.

"Oops," he says, staring down at the stain.

"Your jeans are undone," Stan adds.

Kyle groans, fumbling to do it back up with shaky fingers and drunken movements. "Fucking fuck…"

"Christ," Stan mutters, slapping Kyle's hands out of the way. "Just let me do it." He reaches for the button and does it back up with ease. "There you go."

"Thanks, super bestie," Kyle says, patting Stan's head, much to the brunet's annoyance.

A split second later, Rebecca leaves the room and Stan's jaw tightens. "Hi," she greets him coolly.

"What were you guys doing in there?" he asks shakily.

"What do you _think_?" she laughs.

"He's drunk," Stan bites. "He's _really_ drunk."

"So?" she shrugs carelessly.

"He hates you!" Stan explains bluntly. "He wouldn't go near you if he were sober."

"Boo-fucking-hoo, suck my clit," she says carelessly, walking right past the boys and back downstairs.

"Jeez," Stan mutters, staring up at Kyle's face.

"Why d'you look upset?" the redhead asks him in a drunken slur.

"You'll be upset, too… once you have a sober minute to think," Stan murmurs, curling his fingers around Kyle's wrist. "Come on, let's get out of here before something even worse happens." He drags Kyle down the stairs and out of the house. Once they reach the end of the driveway, they turn onto the main road and begin walking. Kyle stumbles and Stan says, "Here, put an arm around me to help steady yourself."

The redhead does as he's told, drunkenly obedient. "Kin we go t'yer house 'stead of mine… Ma'd kill me…"

"Sure, dude," Stan says with a sigh. It's true. Sheila would flay them both alive for getting drunk. Then again, Stan isn't quite drunk. He's sober enough to know what's what.

When they finally arrive at Stan's house, Kyle shoves the brunet away and pukes on himself as they're walking up the driveway. Then he starts crying.

"Shit," Stan mutters, grimacing. He ditches the redhead and moves to the side of the house to get the hose, washing away the evidence before dragging the crying redhead inside. "Be quiet, Kyle…"

"Why'm I crying?" he asks Stan, as if he holds all the answers.

"I don't know," Stan says. "Only you know that. Think about it for a minute."

They go into the basement, where the guest room is located. Stan pushes Kyle into the bathroom and helps remove his puke-drenched clothes. Once Kyle is left in his shorts, he sinks to the floor while Stan opens the glass doors of the shower and turns the tap on.

"Stay awake," he murmurs to Kyle, who looks like he's only half conscious as he leans against the wall.

"Mm…" Kyle lets out a pained moan, eyes closed.

Stan lets out a sigh, staring at him as they wait for the water to get warm. Even now, with tear tracks and having just puked on himself, Stan can't help but think he looks damn good. He sticks his hand under the shower nozzle and says, "Kyle… the shower is ready."

"Mm…" Kyle moans again, forcing himself onto his feet. His movements are groggy and heavy. Unceremoniously, he pushes his boxers down past his hips and lets them fall. He steps out of them and then steps into the shower. Dry mouthed and grossly horny, Stan watches. Once Kyle is inside, he closes the glass door and Stan stares at the shape of his body move from the other side. Just his luck – he gets a boner. He lets out a longing sigh, ignoring it before turning around and going upstairs to get the redhead a glass of water to sip on once he gets out.

Upstairs, Shelly is there to greet him. Her arms are crossed and she looks pissed. "Turd!" she seethes, hissing out Stan's childhood nickname.

"Sh-Shelly," Stan stutters, trying to hide his stiffy.

"What are you dumb turds doing down there?" she asks. "I heard you come in. You definitely weren't quiet."

"Damn," Stan murmurs. "Kyle got really fucking drunk and sick…"

She rolls her eyes. "What a _stupid_ turd."

"Yeah," Stan agrees dryly.

"Keep that idiot quiet and I won't tell Mom and Dad," she warns, jabbing him in the chest with her pointer finger.

"I will," Stan promises, not wanting his parents to find out. Then again, it's better than Sheila finding out. Then _again_, Sharon would likely spill the beans either way.

Shelly returns to her room and Stan gets Kyle a glass of water before returning to the basement. Back in the bathroom, he sets the cup down on the counter before noticing Kyle is no longer standing. He sighs, opening the door and staring down at the unconscious mess that is his best friend. He turns the taps off and shakes Kyle a few times. "Hey…" he says softly. "Kyle, wake up…"

No such luck.

Stan groans to himself before bending down and dragging Kyle out of the shower and onto the cold bathroom tiles. He's heavy. Stan releases another groan as he lets go of Kyle. Still, the redhead doesn't budge. "Come on, Kyle…" Stan pleads with him, getting irritated. He flops onto the floor next to Kyle's unconscious, naked body and puts an ear to his wet chest. He's breathing evenly. Stan sits up again and, unable to help himself, puts his palm on Kyle's abdomen, grazing his hands over the muscle and stopping at the trail of hair beneath his navel.

The redhead stirs a moment later and shivers. Stan quickly removes his hand, standing up and fetching a towel. Kyle sits up, bleary and dizzy. "Why'm I nak'd…" he mumbles.

"You took a shower," Stan explains, handing him the towel and helping him stand.

"Oh… right… got sick," he recalls, sloppily drying his limbs.

"And passed out… You'll probably get sick again in the morning," Stan tells him, bending down and picking Kyle's pukey clothes off the ground.

"Prolly…" Kyle admits.

"Here," Stan says with a sigh, handing the redhead back his shorts. "These aren't covered in puke. Wear them to bed. You can try to squeeze into some of my clothes in the morning."

Wordlessly, Kyle takes his underwear and slips them on.

"Also," Stan adds, pointing to the glass of water, "sip on that." Kyle simply nods in response and Stan leaves the bathroom, entering the laundry room and throwing Kyle's vomit covered duds in the washing machine. "What a fucking night…" he whispers to himself before entering the guest room. Kyle is sitting on one side of the bed in his boxer shorts, sipping on the glass of water. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 11:30. It's not even midnight yet and Kyle has succeeded in wrecking himself for the second weekend in a row. It's a new record. Hopefully he won't try to shoot for three.

"Staaaan?" Kyle says the brunet's name in a whiny, high pitched voice.

"What?" Stan asks.

"Are you mad?"

"No."

"Yes, you aaare," the redhead insists.

"No, I'm not," Stan insists in return, though it's a lie. He's mad, but not because of this. He's mad because he wants Kyle and Kyle wants girls… but he can't exactly say that. He knows how selfish it would be.

"Why are you mad?" The questions keep coming.

"I'm not!" Stan hisses out in a whisper.

Kyle is looks taken aback at the blatant anger.

"What parts of tonight do you remember, Kyle?" Stan asks, turning the lights off before shrugging out of his clothes. Once he's left in his shorts, he gets into bed with Kyle.

"I don't know," the Jewish teenager slurs.

"Think," Stan urges.

"Why?"

"Because you're good at it," Stan says lightly. A moment later he hears a _clunk_, which he assumes is Kyle setting the glass down. Another moment later, Stan feels the bed indent as Kyle lies down.

"I'm not good at anything," Kyle murmurs.

"Don't be retarded," Stan snorts. "You're the smartest person in this crummy town."

"Whoopie shit," Kyle says sourly. "Like anyone here even cares about that kind of thing."

"Since when do you care what people think?" Stan asks.

"I don't…" Kyle says, growing tired. "I don't, but sometimes… I think it'd be nice… to get a little recognition…"

"From your parents?" Stan guesses, but the redhead doesn't reply. He's already passed out.

* * *

"I wonder what Kyle and Stan are doing?" Kenny muses aloud, rolling around on Cartman's bed. They just finished round two and they're both sweaty messes.

"Probably licking each other's assholes," Cartman snorts.

Kenny frowns at that.

"Kidding," Cartman cackles. "They're at a party in Cherry Creek."

"Oh," is all the blond says.

"Stan wants the Jew," Cartman mentions. "Did you know?"

"Yeah," Kenny's frown deepens, his eyebrows drawing together.

"Of course you knew," the chubby teenager says knowingly, "and you still went and seduced him. You're nastier than I thought you were, princess."

"I don't want them to be together… but I'm still trying to convince Stan to make it happen."

"Why do you even care?" Cartman mutters the question.

"I want them," Kenny says. "I want all three of you to myself. No one else gets to have you and you don't get to have each other." It's not a cocky sentiment; for the most part it's just childishly selfish.

"Why?" Cartman asks before calling him out on it, "That's selfish."

"I know," the blond admits. "I want everything to be mine. Mine, mine, mine."

"That's not normal," the other teenager points out. "Why can't you just settle for one of us?"

"People come and go… I don't want any of you to go…" he says.

"We won't," Cartman insists somewhat impatiently.

"Promise?" he asks.

"Yeah, promise," Cartman says, giving him a light slap on the cheek. "So stop being stupid." Kenny smiles up at him and Cartman puts a hand on the blond's head, touching his feathery hair. "Dipshit," he adds one final insult for good measure. "You worry about the weirdest things. It's not normal at all."

"I can't help it," Kenny whispers.

Either way, he is going to have to right his wrong eventually.

* * *

Come morning, the hangover hits Kyle like brick. He squeezes his eyes shut, moaning out in pain. His constant whining wakes up Stan. "Kyle…? You okay?"

"Mm…" Kyle groans in response.

"I see," Stan says with a snort. "Want some Tylenol?"

"No," Kyle sighs. "I deserve to feel like shit…"

"Why's that?"

"Last night was so fucking embarrassing…" Kyle states, rubbing his forehead. "Don't tell anyone what I did, okay?"

"What part?" Stan snorts.

"Well… any of it," Kyle says. "The crying, the puking… or the fact that my ex-girlfriend totally took advantage of me when I was acting like a stunned twelve year old who was at his first party."

"Why _were_ you crying…?" Stan asks, raising a brow. "You never cry."

"I don't even know," Kyle mutters.

"Liar," Stan calls him out.

Kyle offers the brunet a small smile, but it's lackluster. "Sometimes I break down," he admits. "I just make sure only to let it happen when I'm by myself."

"Why?" Stan asks hoarsely.

"It's embarrassing," the redhead shrugs. "I don't like the thought of people seeing me when I'm vulnerable."

"Are you okay?" Stan asks.

"Usually," Kyle admits. "I take pills… or, I'm supposed to. I haven't refilled my prescription. I take them pretty sporadically anyway… which I'm not supposed to do, but I hate the fact that I'm on antis."

Stan swallows, his throat feeling dry. "I didn't know," he whispers hoarsely.

"Because it's a secret," Kyle says. "I didn't _want_ people to know."

"Oh…"

"So, don't tell anyone," Kyle finishes, eying his best friend.

Stan simply nods.

"I just felt really bad last night," Kyle continues. "I felt bad for ruining your night and being annoying. I felt bad about seeing Rebecca… I felt bad about the Kenny thing. I guess I just felt lonely and pathetic and a little worthless. I could tell you were pissed, even though you kept denying it. Since I was drunk, everything seemed a lot worse than it was and it all just piled up and I guess it made me even more emotional."

"Sorry," Stan mumbles.

Kyle shrugs. "It's fine. I mean, hell… I'd be pissed off at me, too. I was being annoying."

"You were drunk," Stan justifies.

"Still," Kyle reasons, "I was pretty stupid."

"Are you okay?" Stan asks.

Kyle closes his eyes, giving a slow nod. For some reason, Stan doubts it, but he won't ask questions. He's beginning to see that Kyle Broflovski might not be as perfect as he acts.

* * *

"How was that party?" Cartman asks when Monday rolls around.

"Shitty," Stan murmurs.

"Yeah," Kyle says. Neither of them mentions Kyle's less than stellar performance. Cartman would eat up information like that. "What about you?"

"Kinny gave me a strip tease and a lap dance to the song 'Arabella' by The Arctic Monkeys," Cartman reveals. "Not gonna lie, it was pretty hot. He acts really stupid most days, but he can be fuckin' sexy when he wants to be."

"Good to know," Kyle mutters. "Where _is_ Kenny, anyhow?"

Stan shrugs in response while Cartman adds, "Who the fuck knows? You know how he is… He comes and he goes."

"Yeah, but where the fuck does he go?" Kyle asks.

"Blow dudes?" Stan guesses with a shrug.

Cartman scoffs. "He ain't even as bad as you two think he is. That's not the only fuckin' thing he does, y'know."

"Wow, sounds like you care," Kyle points out in a mocking simper.

Cartman rolls his eyes. "I don't. I'm just saying you guys are wrong."

"Aw," Kyle coos. "Do you have a little crush?"

"No!" Cartman spits.

Kyle snickers, jabbing his friend in the side. "You're just as bad, you little shithead. You've told Kenny, to his face, that you think of him like a toy."

Cartman growls, grabbing a handful of the Jew's curly hair.

"Fucker!" Kyle yells and the fight ensues. Stan rolls his eyes, choosing to ignore them.

* * *

When Kenny comes to, he's lying in his bed without a stitch on. He sighs, getting up and stretching before throwing on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt – some of Stan's hand-me-downs.

It was a hit and run, but he's back now. Nothing less than typical. He checks the time on his phone – 5PM. School is already out. Kyle and Stan will be asking the usual questions – "Where were you?" and "What were you doing?" Kenny is good at making up stories because of this. He's learned to think up quick and convincing lies. It comes easily now.

Instead of calling the boys, he calls Bebe. She's easiest to talk to, even if he can't tell her about the most important things. Stan, though he might deny it, is still feeling a few negative emotions and Kenny isn't blind to it. Kyle is still iffy around him and Cartman? Well, Cartman doesn't really care about people's feelings. He just wants a hole to fuck and that's why he sticks around.

When the blond girl arrives, she greets Kenny with a hug. "You seem down," she mentions once they part.

They retreat to Kenny's bedroom and he finally speaks, "I'm not up or down… I'm just kind of in the middle and I think that's worse than being sad."

"Oh, angel," Bebe sighs, playing with his hair once they settle on his mattress. "You need to get this sorted."

"I know," he murmurs. "I'm tired. It's like… yeah, I get the right amount of sleep, but I'm still tired."

"Maybe it's a different kind of tired," Bebe suggests carefully.

Kenny lets out a bitter laugh. "Yeah… probably. I think it became a part of my personality. It won't get fixed by getting an extra hour of sleep."

"Do you talk to your friends about this stuff?" she asks.

"It's hard," he admits. "Cartman… he's kind of an ass. Stan is mad at me and Kyle is kind of awkward around me now. I've slept with them all, so…" he trails off, shrugging his shoulders lightly. "Things are different now."

"I see," Bebe says slowly. "Well, I think it would be a good idea for all of you to get together and have a serious talk. They're your friends. You should tell them how you're feeling."

"They'll just get pissed," he scoffs. "I know them. They'll get mad at me for keeping it a secret because it's not something recent. I've been like this since I was a kid. I just… it's hard to feel things. I just want to feel something."

"Is that why you're always sleeping around?" she wonders.

"Hm," Kenny muses aloud. "Part of it, maybe."

Bebe gives him a sympathetic smile. She's never been one for that kind of thing, but she won't look at Kenny poorly for being the way he is. While all the kids are screwing and drinking their thoughts away, Bebe prefers to keep her mind sharp. That isn't to say she's a stick in the mud. She'll have a drink now and again and she enjoys intimacy, but she doesn't feel the need to sleep with everyone like so many of her friends.

But Kenny… Kenny is different. He's an extreme case. Sometimes she feels like it might be his addiction. Sex. It pains her, but no matter how hard she tries to help him, it seems impossible. He'll laugh and brush off every single attempt, avoiding with practised ease.

"You shouldn't sleep with people to form connections," she tries. "You shouldn't let people use and abuse you. That won't make them stay. It won't make them respect you. In fact, it only creates disrespect. It shouldn't, but that's the way this crummy world works."

"I feel like I should know that," he sighs. "It just never sticks. Next thing I know, I'm out and about with another stranger."

"Yeah," she whispers.

"Eric, Kyle, Stan… and you. You all give me something different," he confesses.

"What do we give you?" Bebe asks gently.

"You're a girl, so being with you is just a completely different experience than being with a boy, even though the _thing_ is going in the same place," Kenny says with a laugh. "You're the only girl for me. You're like… this cute little dominatrix. I don't know. Maybe I've got mommy issues. Stan… he's a romantic guy. With him, I feel like I'm with someone who really cares about me. I _feel_ it. Eric is rough and you know me, heh… I like that. He likes fucking to music. Sometimes he'll put on something that makes me feel like we're competing in the anal Olympics. I think he does it so I'm less likely to talk. He says that shit ain't cute – talking during fucking. I guess he just wants me to look pretty and shut up."

"Jackass," Bebe mutters.

Kenny smiles airily. "I've only been with Kyle once. I was high on drugs and he was drunk, but I don't care… it still meant something to me, even if it meant nothing to him."

"I'm sure it meant something to him," Bebe tries to reassure him.

Kenny simply shakes his head. "He was drunk and lonely. I was there and I was convenient. He even said it… I mean, I don't take it personally… but he also said that he wasn't going to pretend it didn't happen and he wasn't going to pretend I was someone else. He knows it was me. He just didn't care, I guess. Oh, well. That's what I'm here for, right? Eric says it – it's like I was made for the sole purpose of being fucked. I'm a toy."

"No way!" Bebe says sternly. "Don't demean yourself, Kenneth McCormick. You're worth more than the way people treat you. You're worth more than the strangers who fuck you. You're worth more than the friends who find you expendable. You're _not_ expendable. You're a fucking gem in a chest full of rocks and it pisses me off that other people don't seem to see it. Now repeat it."

Kenny rolls his eyes. "I'm not expendable," he says.

"Now once more with feeling," she sing-songs.

"I'm _not_ expendable!" he repeats with the desired purpose.

"Right," she smiles, pinching his cheek.

"So," he starts, "What do you think about when you're fucking me?"

Bebe chuckles. "Well, I'm thinking good things. Plus… you're good with your tongue."

"Okay," Kenny says with a smile. "So, shall we?"

"You don't want to talk anymore?" Bebe asks. She always dreads this part of the conversation – the part when Kenny silences himself.

"Nah," he insists, taking his shirt off and tossing in to the floor.

"Are you sure?" she pries.

Kenny laughs. "Yeah, I'm fucking sure I'd rather have sex than bore you with my problems."

"You're not boring me, Kenny," she promises.

Kenny leans forward and kisses her. "You're the best," he says, drawing back.

"So are you," she replies sincerely.

* * *

Craig yawns, lying in bed. It's early, but Craig is bored and when Craig is bored, he sleeps. Tweek is at work – a late shift, so he won't be stopping by the Tucker house tonight. Craig hasn't been dating Tweek for long, but the blond already spread his legs. 'I guess what they say about him is true,' he muses to himself. The Tweak boy is loose. Not that Craig cares either way. He's not the jealous type. Tweek is his now and that's what matters.

There's a little, nagging voice in his head warning him not to get attached, but for once in his life he'll try to silence it.

Just as he feels himself drifting, his bedroom door swings open. He groans, sitting up and glaring at Clyde who hovers in the doorway. "Hey, pal," he greets cheerfully, not fazed by Craig's anger.

"What?" Craig snaps, wanting to know why he's here.

"I wanted to talk to you about something…" Clyde starts slowly.

"What?" Craig asks again. "Is it Bebe? If so, get someone else's shoulder to cry on."

Clyde rolls his eyes. "I don't _cry_ about her."

"Lies."

"You're being a dick… and either way, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Then what the fuck?" Craig urges, lying back down.

Clyde wanders into the dim room, getting in bed with Craig. "You're acting different lately," he points out. "Are you okay?"

"A hundred percent dandy," Craig promises him, closing his eyes.

"Really?"

"Mhm."

"But something has changed," Clyde says knowingly. "Don't lie. Just tell me what happened."

"Christ, you're annoying," Craig murmurs. "I'm seeing someone."

"What? Who?" Clyde asks, surprised.

Craig lets out an irritated sigh, opening his eyes and turning to look straight into Clyde's. "You can't fucking tell anyone, yeah?"

"Yeah, I won't," Clyde swears.

Craig nods and then reveals, "It's Tweek."

"What!" Clyde nearly shouts.

"Shut the fuck _up_," Craig hisses, reaching and punching the loud-mouth in the shoulder. He elicits a whiny moan in response.

"Since when do you even talk to Tweek?" Clyde asks after recovering.

"He approached me a couple weeks ago," Craig starts. "He said he wanted to be friends again and I basically told him to go away, but he was persistent…"

"So, then what?" Clyde pries, wanting all the juicy details.

"I kind of guessed he was gay," Craig says. "I mean… It was forward of me… but I was right."

"Damn," Clyde murmurs.

"I'm no longer a virgin," Craig adds.

"Fucking hell," Clyde laughs. "Welcome to the club, then."

"Thanks," the black haired teen says dryly.

"So," Clyde sobers, getting a serious look on his face. "What did he say when he saw the scars?"

"Nothing," Craig shrugs it off.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," he repeats. "He didn't see them. It was too dark and he only touched the older ones… they're fading away and they're no longer rough to the touch."

Clyde clicks his tongue. "Tsk, Craig, come on… You can't expect to have a real, solid relationship if you're hiding things."

"I still don't know if this is real," Craig admits. "I like him, yeah, but part of me can't help but wonder if it's because I genuinely like him or if I just like him for being the first person to give me this kind of attention."

"I don't think it matters either way," Clyde says, giving his bestie his honest opinion. "Just tell him the truth. Lies are toxic and they're hard to maintain." He reaches forward and grabs one of Craig's wrists, sliding his shirt sleeve up and lightly thumbing the bright scars. "Some of these are fresh," he notes with a frown.

"Boohoo, nobody cares," Craig says, ripping his hand out of Clyde's grip and giving him a slap in the face for not minding his own business.

"Ass," Clyde mutters, rubbing his cheek. "You're just mad because you know I'm right."

"I'm not mad," Craig says simply. "I don't get mad."

Clyde scoffs. "I _know_ that's a lie. You get angry, you just don't show it. You don't show much of anything. You don't really know _how_ to express yourself. You're stifled and that's probably why you're so disturbed. That's why you walk around like a zombie."

"Stop analysing me, you fuckhead," Craig mutters. "You don't know anything."

"Maybe," Clyde admits, "but that's just 'cause you don't fucking tell me anything. I thought we were best friends, but can I even call you that? I don't know anymore."

Craig is burning holes into Clyde's head – he can see it and feel it. There it is, that suppressed anger, but Craig won't let it out. He can't. He never does. Instead, he does other things.

"What do you _want_ to know?" Craig suddenly asks, surprising Clyde.

"Promise you'll answer?"

"Mhm," Craig agrees with a sigh. "This is a once in a lifetime offer, though. So, take advantage of it."

Clyde smiles at that. "All right, fair enough. First question, when is the last time you hurt yourself?"

"Last week," Craig admits.

"Why?"

"I felt like it," he says.

"Were you upset?"

"No."

"Angry?"

"I don't know…" he considers.

Clyde shrugs, knowing that's about as good of an answer he'll get. Perhaps Craig doesn't know the real reason either… or perhaps his indecisiveness is the most honest answer. "When is the last time you cried?"

Craig scoffs at that question. "A few months ago."

"That long?"

"Yeah. I'm not like you. I don't cry every fucking day."

"Oh," Clyde shrugs it off. "Well, why'd you cry?"

Craig gives Clyde a look of distaste before admitting. "Stripe died. Again."

"Oh," Clyde says with a long nod. "Understandable. I bawled when Rex died."

"I got a new guinea pig," Craig admits, nodding towards the cage.

"Same name?"

"Naturally… anyway, no more questions."

"Dude, I asked like two…" Clyde says.

Craig shifts onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "You asked more than that. What else is there to ask?"

"Are you okay?"

Craig rolls his eyes at Clyde's ever constant concern. "Yeah, Clyde, I'm perfect."


	8. Group therapy: Truths and lies

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thanks for nice reviews :) I finally finished writing this fic, so I'll try and post more frequently. It's a total of 16 chapters plus an epilogue. **

* * *

As the weeks go by, the group therapy sessions get more and more torturous for the boys.

"This week," Mr. Mackey starts, "I want each of you to get up and say three things about yourself. Two true things and one lie. Then everyone else will have to try and guess what the lie is."

"That's _stupid_," Craig adds his input.

"M'kay, Craig," Mr. Mackey says, "Don't be a Debbie Downer."

The brunet simply rolls his eyes in response.

"Why don't you go first then, Craig?"

"Fine," he mutters. He thinks for a moment before saying, "Okay. I have a guinea pig. I have a sister. I breakdance."

Stan scoffs. "Gee, I wonder which one is the lie?" he asks with cynicism.

"Breakdancing," Kyle snorts. "Imagine…"

"Try again, Craig," Mr. Mackey crosses his arms, less than impressed with Craig's careless attempt.

Craig hisses an expletive under his breath before saying, "I need to think."

"Fine, we'll come back to you," Mr. Mackey says. "Eric, why don't you go first."

"Okay. Out of Kyle, Kenny and Stan… who _did not_ suck my balls?" Cartman asks with a sugary sweet smile.

Kyle slumps forward and rubs his temples while Stan raises an eyebrow. "Did _not_?" He glances at Kyle, who is avoiding eye contact and staring at the floor. "Wait, fat-ass," Stan says. "I didn't suck your balls and neither did Kyle. That's just wishful thinking."

Kyle holds his breath, face turning as red as his hair.

"I'll say it again, but slow this time," Cartman says dryly. "Out of the three of you, two of you sucked my balls. One of you did not. There it is, two truths and a lie."

Stan gapes, completely and thoroughly shocked. "Holy shit," he deadpans. "I thought that whole thing blew over…"

"It did… _after_ Kyle sucked my balls. Spent the night with Kinny and Kahl. I charmed the fuck outa these two hos. I lit the scented candles, scattered rose petals and set the mood with some nice music. I heard the doorbell ring and I let them in. We all stood there, chuckling at one another because we knew what was gonna happen. 'So, how are we gonna do this?' the Jew asks, giddy and eager for a sundae with _extra_ nuts. The word that came to mind was… _ball famished_. They were blushing. Alas, Kahl was shy and wouldn't let me film it but the memory remains vivid 'til this very day," he says with a pleased sigh. "He drew upon my balls succulently for a good thirty seconds until his nut craving subsided."

Kyle's face goes even redder. "THAT DID NOT HAPPEN!" he shrieks, sounding shrill. "KENNY WASN'T THERE!"

Cartman smirks. "All right, so that's not quite how it went down, but you admit it did happen."

"It was just so you'd shut the fuck up about it already!" Kyle shouts, a mix of anger and humiliation visible in his expression. "I told you not to go around fucking telling people and you said you wouldn't!"

"Holy shit," Stan states again. "Kenny, aren't you surprised?" he asks, glancing at the blond, who looks like he couldn't care less.

"No," he says simply, examining his nails.

"Boys, settle down," Mr. Mackey says with a sigh. "Let's try to keep it PG, m'kay."

"Yes, please," Jason grimaces.

"Boohoo," Kenny says with little sympathy. "I'm Jason and I'm homophobic and ugly."

"I'm not ugly," Jason retorts. "I'm not homophobic either, but in my opinion it's just gross."

"Jason, cut it out," Clyde groans.

"Newsflash, everyone who starts a sentence with, 'I'm not homophobic _but_,' is fucking homophobic," Kenny states.

"Calm down, ho," Jason scoffs, ignoring Clyde. "I'm not fuckin' homophobic. Like I said, I just think it's gross and I don't want to fucking look at it."

"Then don't," Kenny snorts. "Christ. No one is making you look at two dudes getting it on, but you know what? I have a pretty strong feeling that your internet history has all kinds of lesbian porn on it and if you can't just go around thinking one is fine and one isn't."

"Don't assume shit!" Jason growls.

"Jason, shut the fuck up already! Just shut up!" Craig snaps, surprising everyone in the room. "We _all_ know your internet history is filled with chicks fucking each other, so just shut the _fuck_ up!"

"Why're you taking this so fucking personally?" Jason asks, raising an eyebrow at the stoic teenager's less than stoic display of emotion.

"I'm not," Craig mutters. "You're just pissing me off."

"Why?" Jason pries. "Are you a fag or something?"

"No," he denies it.

Jason scoffs. "Then fuck off because I'm not talking to you."

Craig stands up, fists balled and ready. "You know what? I'm getting pretty fucking sick of your attitude."

"And I'm getting pretty sick of your constant whiny, bitchy behaviour," Jason retorts. "You're worse than a chick on the rag."

"Don't be sexist," Kenny cuts in.

"Oh, right," Jason snorts. "I forgot about your little cross-dressing hobby. Queer."

"Yeah, that's me," Kenny says carelessly.

"Tsk," Stan clicks his tongue. "Just fucking stand up for yourself, Kenny."

Kenny lets out a tired sigh, closing his eyes. "Shut up, Stan…" he murmurs.

"M'kaaay…" Mr. Mackey cuts in slowly. "I'm sensing some tension."

"I'm going home," Kenny announces. "I don't think I need to be here anymore."

"Why don't we call it a day…?" Mr. Mackey suggests. "We'll try to resolve these issues next week."

"Sounds pretty fuckin' good to me," Cartman says.

The boys all get up and leave. This time, there's no pushing and shoving. Kyle, Stan and Cartman run ahead, Kenny stays behind them and walks at a leisurely pace. Craig and Jason bicker a few feet behind while Clyde walks awkwardly beside them.

"Y'know," Token starts, sidling up next to Kenny, "You should ignore every damn thing that comes out of Jason's stupid, white-boy mouth."

"Sick as it sounds… I almost enjoy arguing with him," Kenny admits.

"Why do you _enjoy_ arguing with that expired jar of mayonnaise?" Token asks, genuinely curious.

Kenny smiles somewhat bitterly. "It gives me a rush. He riles me up. I've gotten used to feeling pretty numb. I guess that's really the only reason I've been taking part in the fighting. Like you said, I'm not a fighter. I'm mostly just a punching bag but I don't really mind it because I'd rather hurt than not feel a damn thing. 'Cause then it's like… Right, here I am feeling pain. I'm alive. Et cetera."

"Shit," Token deadpans. "That's pretty heavy… Don't you think you should try a mood stabilizer or something instead of becoming a punching bag, though? Go see a doctor."

Kenny shakes his head. "Nah, but thanks for the suggestion," he smiles up at the handsome teenager.

Token nods, never pushing. "I've decided I'm not going to fight anymore," he adds. "Maybe if I stop, the others will follow… then again, probably not. I'm just being hopeful. They've all got minds of their own."

The blond forces a laugh. "I won't fight with Jason anymore…" he pauses. "Well, I won't let him hit me anymore. I'll just avoid him instead."

Token nods. "Good plan."

"Kyle doesn't like fighting either. I think he just does it to offer Stan support because of how much Stan and Craig hate each other," Kenny adds.

"Yeah," Token sighs. "They're the ones that started this whole damn thing with their constant competitions. It was harmless when we were young… but it got worse as we got older. It's going to get dangerous if we don't stop now. I mean, it's already a bit dangerous. It'll just escalate."

"I think we should all just stop," Kenny suggests.

"I think the teachers would appreciate that," Token chuckles. "Things are getting pretty messy. For everyone's sake, we should all move on from it."

"Heh, probably…"

Kenny waves and skips off a moment later, deciding to take a break from the boys and go visit Bebe.

* * *

Stan walks a few feet behind Kyle, who is still steaming mad. His cheeks are pink and he's walking with intent, letting his long legs carry him far and fast. He doesn't want to face Stan.

"K… Kyle…" Stan says weakly, unsure of how to start the conversation without making things awkward.

"What?" Kyle asks bitterly.

"Slow down," Stan says, catching up to the redhead. "I want to talk to you."

"Well, I'm not in the mood to talk," Kyle bites, walking faster.

"Come on…" the brunet urges, struggling to keep up with Kyle's strides.

"You don't fucking get it, Stan!" Kyle snaps, finally stopping and spinning around to look at his best friend.

"What don't I get?" Stan asks.

"Look, I'm not fucking gay!" Kyle insists.

"What does that have to do with this?"

"My parents would fucking die if they found out I had another guy's dick anywhere near me and my track record is pretty bad, especially as of late," he says.

"Why?" Stan asks, raising an eyebrow. "And how would they find out?"

"Cartman seems keen on letting everyone know," Kyle mutters with disgust. "My parents…" he pauses and lets out a sigh, rubbing his palms down his face. "They're not as tolerant as they act. Sure, being gay is fine… as long as me and Ike are straight."

"Why the hell do they care?" Stan scoffs. "It isn't really any of their business, is it?"

"No," Kyle murmurs. "Hell, I don't know… but you know how my ma is. She makes everything pertaining to me and Ike her business – especially if it has to do with our futures. She has it all planned out for us, children and all."

"So, your heterosexuality is, what, like some sort of priority?" Stan asks in disbelief.

"Kind of," Kyle mutters. "You know how you asked me about marriage and stuff a while back? Well, they want me to marry a Jewish girl. If they found out I basically sucked off a Nazi and fucked a promiscuous guy like Kenny, they'd flip shit and worry about not getting any grandkids. They're hypocrites."

"Yeah," Stan frowns.

Kyle starts walking again, slowly this time and Stan doesn't have a problem keeping up. "Can I stay at yours tonight?" the redhead asks.

"Sure," Stan says.

"Thanks," Kyle nods. "Let's stop at my place so I can grab a few things… Hell, I should just keep some of my shit at your house, shouldn't I? It'd be a lot easier. Besides, I'm there enough. Heh."

"Yeah," Stan forces a laugh and the two of them continue to the Broflovski residence.

* * *

"Hey…" Kenny says shakily, staring up at the blond girl hovering over him. He can feel her fingers inside of him – a sensation he's familiar with in a way but his body has yet to get used to it. Each time he dies, he's reborn – virgin body and all.

"Hm?" Bebe asks.

"Clyde's into you," he mentions out of the blue. "Did you know?"

"Oh," she says. "No, I didn't…" She pauses, pressing her lips together in thought before adding, "He's pretty cute… and very sweet. Well, when he isn't fighting. I do hate when you all fight. It's so ridiculous."

He smiles slightly, unable to disagree. "Gonna go for it?"

"I don't know," she laughs. "Do you really want to talk about this while I have my fingers up your butt?"

"I don't mind," he insists. "You know me – I'm a talker in the sack."

"True," she smiles back. "Well, Clyde is awfully shy…"

"Yeah, I told him you're not into shy boys," Kenny says.

"I could be," she considers. "We'll see."

* * *

When Stan and Kyle arrive at the Marsh house, Kyle throws his things in Stan's room and the two of them go into the kitchen. Sharon greets them both with a smile as they rummage for food.

"Kyle is staying the night," Stan tells her.

"Okay," Sharon says with ease. "What are you two boys going to get up to?"

"Probably nothing too exciting," Stan laughs, grabbing a banana and offering Kyle a pear, fully aware of his aversion to the former.

"Well, have fun," Sharon smiles at them as they leave the kitchen. "I'm going grocery shopping. Do you boys want anything in particular?"

Stan glances at Kyle, who shakes his head. "Nah, we're good," he says.

"Okay," she smiles again.

They walk into the living room and upstairs. Kyle lets his mind wander. He doesn't want to be around his family, but being around Stan is just as stressful because the brunet is so full of questions lately.

"Does your mom know you're, like, bi or whatever?" Kyle asks as they retreat to Stan's room.

The brunet shrugs. "I casually brought it up a while ago," he admits. "It was mostly a _what-if_ thing, but she smiled and said if I'm happy, she's happy. It was relieving… So, yeah, I think she kind of knows."

"Hm," Kyle muses. "That's lucky. I'm kind of jealous."

"You shouldn't let it bother you," Stan says. "Even if your parents do find out you did stuff with guys, why would it matter if you're straight at the end of the day?"

"I don't know," Kyle laughs awkwardly. "Fucking hell. I don't know why this has me so stressed out, but it does. My stomach is in knots."

"Why?"

"I don't fucking know," Kyle repeats, adding an expletive. His tone changes from nervous to angry, as if it's something he doesn't want to think too deeply about.

"Well… maybe you aren't as straight as you think," Stan reasons, calling Kyle out.

"Oh?" Kyle challenges. They enter Stan's bedroom and flop onto his bed.

"Yeah… I mean, you're stressed out enough about something that shouldn't be stressing you out. If you're so fucking straight, why are you so damn anxious?"

"I told you…"

"No," Stan says as the redhead trails off. "I call bullshit. Boohoo, you fucked a guy and sucked another guy. A lot of straight dudes do shit like that. No homo, right? They get over it. Brojobs and all that… but you're all uppity about it. Why is that?"

Kyle is rubbing his temples.

"Come on!" Stan exclaims impatiently. "I thought we were best fucking friends! Like you said, we should be able to talk about this stuff!"

Kyle lets out a laugh that sounds cold and hard to Stan's ears. "Fine!" he raises his voice angrily. "I liked it! I liked fucking a guy. I fucking liked it and I want to do it again!"

Stan chokes and for many long moments, it's completely quiet – only the wind whistling outside Stan's bedroom window, only the ticking of a clock, only Kyle's heavy breathing. Stan's lips part as he asks, "So, do you like Kenny?"

"No… No. I don't fucking know," Kyle whispers. He cups the palms of his hands over his eyes, letting out a string of deep breaths. "Just stop asking me these fucking questions," he snaps at Stan, letting his hands fall to his lap. "Shit… fucking shit."

Stan feels like crying. He can't help but think what would have happened if Kyle had fucked him instead of Kenny. Would he be feeling this way towards him, too? Would be still be conflicted? Or is the blond just special? 'Kenny always gets what he wants,' Stan thinks bitterly. His throat constricts, feeling tight – too tight to breath and it hurts in more ways than one. It's a dull ache, but it keeps growing. Before he can help it, the first tear slips out and he's angry at himself for being so sensitive. He's angry at himself for not being able to swallow his emotions. Kyle doesn't notice. He's too busy staring down at his hands until Stan lets out the first sob.

Kyle finally looks up, taken aback. "What…?" he asks hoarsely. "Why are you crying?"

Stan's mind blanks as he scrambles for an excuse. "Because you're yelling!" he says stupidly, shying away from Kyle and sinking into himself.

The redhead shifts closer, but Stan shoves him away. "Look at me!" Kyle shouts.

"I can't," Stan whimpers, turning away.

"Stan…"

Stan wipes his cheeks with his sweater sleeve. Kyle tries to move closer again, but Stan shies away once more. He tries to get off the bed, but Kyle grabs him, trying to force Stan to look him in the eye. Stan struggles to free himself and Kyle struggles to keep hold of him.

"Let go!" the brunet shouts, feeling like a trapped animal about to get shot. He elbows Kyle in the abdomen and the redhead finally lets go, emitting a groan. Stan stands up and tries to make his way across the room, but Kyle goes after him again and catches both of his wrists.

"Look at me!" he demands again, growing impatient against his will. "Just fucking look at me!"

Stan shakes at the anger evident in his voice. He lets out a keening sound and another wave of sobs wracks his body. If his mom was home, she'd be up here in a heartbeat, but she isn't. They're the only ones here. Randy is at work and who knows where Shelly is.

Stan stares down at the carpet intently, trying to calm down, but it's hard. He struggles to free himself from Kyle's hold. Kyle tightens his grip in response.

"I'm stronger than you are, Stan," he says. "I could keep you here all night."

Stan takes a step back and Kyle takes a step forward.

"Talk," the redhead demands.

"No," Stan whispers weakly. Even now, the words won't come out. They get stuck in his throat. "I can't… Just let go of me."

"Not until you tell me why you're crying so fucking hard," Kyle says.

Stan lets out a breath, still staring at the carpet. He can't bring himself to look up at Kyle. He's so close, yet so far away. He moves to take another step back, but he trips, falling backwards and taking Kyle with him. He feels Kyle's weight on top of him, knocking the wind out of him.

"Shit!" Kyle shouts, sitting up.

Stan pants, trying to get his breath back. "Kyle…" he murmurs, staring up at the redhead. He loves Kyle so much and Kyle doesn't love him. "Kyle… I…"

Kyle stares back, softening as their eyes meet. A vague sense of understanding overcomes him, though he feels unsure with the assumption. "You know I'd do anything for you, right?" he asks quietly. "I mean it – anything. Whatever you wanted, I'd give you."

"Why?" Stan asks.

"You're my best friend," Kyle explains gently. "You're like… more than that. I need you. I don't want to lose you. I guess it's kind of pathetic of me, but it's true."

"You won't lose me," Stan promises. He wipes his eyes, letting out a sigh. "But maybe I want more than you're willing to give."

Kyle smiles down at him. "I'd kill for you... and I doubt you'd actually want me to kill anyone. So, just say what it is you want." He places a palm flat on Stan's chest, keeping him in place so he won't try to leave.

"It's fine, Kyle," Stan says, forcing a laugh. "I just had a bit of a freak out."

"Yeah, right," Kyle says, not believing it happened without reason.

"Let me up," Stan requests.

"No," Kyle says, sitting on his legs and leaning forward so their faces are mere inches apart. "Say it…" he whispers. "I'll do whatever you fucking want, Stan, so just say it…"

The words get stuck in Stan's throat when he realizes what Kyle is offering him. He stays silent and squeezes his eyes shut. Nonetheless, a brief moment later he feels a pair of warm lips cover his own. Before he can react, they're gone. He opens his eyes and Kyle is still staring down at him.

"That's what you want, right?" he asks.

"I love you…" Stan whispers, bringing an arm to cover his eyes. "I'm in love with you… Fuck…"

Kyle grabs his arms and pins them to the ground so Stan can't hide. He gives Stan a piteous look. "I didn't know…"

"I didn't want you to…"

Kyle lets go of him and for a minute, they simply stare at one another. "You can keep a secret, right?"

"You know I can," Stan murmurs.

It's tense and uncomfortable until Kyle decides to close the gap between them once more and this is when the dam breaks. Stan allows his lips to part and Kyle dips his tongue into his mouth. He's wanted this for so long – just to touch Kyle the way he'd let a girl touch him, just to touch him the way Rebecca and Kenny touched him. He wraps his arms around Kyle's neck as the redhead's hands rake over his clothed body. When they break apart, they both let out a heavy breath and stare at one another.

"If you're into Kenny…" Stan starts slowly.

"That isn't what I meant…" Kyle sits up and Stan does the same. "Kenny doesn't know what the fuck he wants and neither do I," Kyle murmurs. "He wants everything and nothing at the same time. He hates himself and that's why he seeks attention and that's why he's so possessive. He needs approval from everyone – friends and strangers. He sees his own value in other people instead of himself. People use him and it's like this fucking cycle… because he always believes the things people say about him, he'll never be happy with himself. He'll never belong to just one person. In a way, he's nobody's and everybody's. He refuses help, no matter how many times we've offered it in the past. He refuses anything good. So, it doesn't matter how I feel. I could never be with someone like him. If he keeps it up, he'll never be okay."

Stan closes his eyes, mulling over each word. For some reason, he doesn't feel any better.

"Besides," Kyle sighs, "I don't think I'm any different than the creeps that pick him up when he's feeling down. What I'm feeling for him isn't romance. I just want to _do_ him."

"Then what about me?" Stan asks.

"I told you," Kyle says, "I'm willing to give you whatever you want."

He stares at the redhead. "What about your mom?"

"You said you can keep a secret, huh? She won't find out," Kyle shrugs. "It's just a fuck, right?"

"Right," Stan whispers.

It won't mean a damn thing.


	9. Time to be real

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

* * *

When Stan's parents get home, they all eat dinner together and chat mildly about work and school. Kyle and Stan help Sharon with the dishes afterward before retreating upstairs.

"So," Kyle starts once they arrive back to Stan's bedroom.

"I'm gonna shower," Stan says.

"Oh, okay…"

Stan nods absently, opening his dresser and grabbing a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. He leaves Kyle alone in his bedroom and enters the bathroom, turning the taps on and undressing as the water gets warm. He stares at himself in the mirror, examining his body critically. Is Kyle going to hate seeing this much of him? Is it selfish to accept the redhead's offer?

He shrugs it off before getting in the shower. He shampoos his hair and washes himself thoroughly, still uneasy about the possibility of sleeping with his best friend. 'What if it changes things for the worse?' he can't help but think.

Once clean, he turns the taps off and steps out, drying off and putting his night clothes on. He drops his day clothes in the laundry basket before returning to his room. Kyle is sitting on his bed, playing with his iPhone. He's still wearing his jeans.

"Hey," Stan greets.

"Hey," Kyle returns, glancing up at him and placing his phone in his pocket. "So, are we going downstairs?"

Stan knows that if he says no, he'll regret it forever. So he says, "Yeah, let's go downstairs."

Kyle nods. He picks his backpack up off the floor and swings it over his shoulder while Stan opens his nightstand, grabbing a bottle of lube.

On the main floor, his parents are absently watching the news. "We're going to sleep in the guest room since there's more space," Stan mentions to them, hiding the bottle up his sleeve.

"Okay," Sharon says.

"No funny business," Randy jokes offhandedly and Stan nearly chokes but he holds it in and shares an awkward look with Kyle.

The two of them retreat to the basement, entering the guest room. Stan locks the door for good measure. Kyle puts his bag on the floor and they share another awkward look.

"I don't have a…" Kyle trails off.

"S'fine," Stan says. "I'm clean."

"So…" he trails off.

Stan simply nods and begins to remove the clothing he put on mere minutes ago. Kyle follows, dropping his jeans and tugging his t-shirt off.

"Will this mean anything to you?" Stan asks once he's undressed. He stands bare, feeling shy as he wraps his arms around himself.

"Yeah," Kyle promises softly. "You're my best friend, dude. _You_ mean something to me. So will this."

Smooth.

Without another word, Stan reaches for the bottle and coats his fingers before settling on the bed. Kyle watches as the brunet fingers himself. It's a side of Stan he never imagined seeing – face down, ass up and about to take a big dick. _His_ dick, to be exact. Kyle can't help but wonder if Stan has touched himself like this before. He drops his shorts and approaches the bed. "Can I…?" he asks, settling behind the brunet.

"Go slow…" Stan says, gingerly removing the fingers. He closes his eyes. He feels Kyle's eyes on him – staring at his most private parts. He out a shaky breath as Kyle's fingers enter him.

"Does it hurt?" he asks.

"No," Stan murmurs.

Kyle is slow and careful. Stan notices that he's a lot more careful than he looked when he was with Kenny. Then again, maybe it's because he isn't drunk and this is still unfamiliar to him. You're often a little less confident when you're sober.

When the fingers are gone, Kyle touches Stan's spine. "Lie on your back," he instructs. "I wanna look at you."

As Stan does so, Kyle grabs the bottle from the nightstand and pours a generous amount into his palm.

"You're big…" Stan murmurs, pausing. "Is that a rude thing to say?"

The other teenager laughs lightly. "No, it's fine."

Stan looks up at Kyle, whose eyes are half lidded as he strokes himself. Stan stares at Kyle, _really_ stares at him. He stares at every inch of him – his curly, red hair, his bushy eyebrows, his green eyes and his sharp nose. He can see the faint scars on his biceps from childhood adventures and he can see the larger scar on his abdomen from his kidney transplant.

Kyle stares down at Stan and does the same as he settles between the brunet's thighs. He looks at the entirety that is his best friend for the first time in his life. He lets himself stare shamelessly, taking in his vulnerability and realizing it means so fucking much that the brunet chose him. It means so much that he feels this way. He washes over every inch of the shorter male – his blue eyes, his perfect, little nose, his tanned skin. He lets his gaze travel south, down his abdomen, past the trail of pubic hair and between his legs.

"Kyle…" Stan mutters, feeling a range of emotions.

The redhead smiles. "Just admiring," he says before grabbing Stan's knees and pushing them back. He positions himself and moves forward slowly. Stan's eyebrows draw together, but he doesn't make a sound.

"You okay?" Kyle pauses and Stan simply nods in response. "You sure…? You feel a bit rigid."

"Kinda strange…" Stan admits, "but it's not that bad. You can move, but slowly…"

Kyle nods, pulling out halfway before moving forward. His pace is slow and Stan relaxes noticeably.

"Faster…" he murmurs.

Kyle does as requested, moving his hands across the flat plane of Stan's stomach. They're playing with fire and they aren't aware how dangerous this could get. Feelings are going to get in the way and somebody will end up hurt, whether it's Kyle, Stan or kenny. Deep down, Stan is expecting it. Kyle, on the other hand, will pretend everything is fine.

Stan stares up at Kyle the entire time and watches the redhead's expression as he comes. He feels him shudder and he sees his eyes close. "Ah, fuck," he pants, slowing his pace before stopping. He pulls out and lets out a breath.

Stan bites his lip at the unfamiliar sensation coming from his backside. Kyle grabs his legs and pulls Stan towards him so his ass is on his lap. Reaching forward, he curls his fingers around the brunet's erection, touching him the way he'd touch himself.

Stan lets out a quiet moan, toes curling as he squirms on Kyle's lap. He sighs quietly, touching the mess on his stomach. He can feel his heartbeat throughout every inch of his body and he can't help but wonder if Kyle can feel it, too. The redhead leans down, locking an arm around Stan's back and pulling him into a sitting position on his lap.

Stan puts a palm on Kyle's stubbly cheek. They share a few sloppy, open-mouthed kisses before breaking apart and just like that, the illusion is gone. They're no longer two warm bodies moving in unison. Stan feels cold and sticky and Kyle feels far away and unsure. Stan gets up off the bed and turns to his best friend. "I'll have to wash the sheets tomorrow before my mom sees… but we should rinse off for now…"

"Yeah," Kyle agrees.

They both cross the hall into the basement bathroom. Stan turns the taps on and Kyle silently thinks about the last time he was here. He got drunk, he got sick and he got upset. Some parts are choppy, but he remembers getting in the shower then waking up on the floor with Stan hovering over him, looking concerned. He shakes the memory off, not wanting to think about his own stupidity.

Once the water gets warm, Stan steps inside and Kyle follows him, shutting the glass door. Silently, they clean themselves and towel off. Back in the guest room, Stan turns around as he redresses.

"Stan…" Kyle murmurs.

"Hm?" the brunet asks once he's clothed. He turns around and stares at his best friend, who is still bare.

"We're okay, right?" he asks.

"Of course," Stan says.

The questions keep coming. "Was I okay?"

"Of course," Stan says again.

"You'd tell me if I did something wrong, right?" Kyle pries.

"Of course," the brunet says one more time, turning the lights off and getting into bed.

Kyle nods, satisfied with that much. He sifts through his backpack and feels for a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He throws them on before getting into bed with Stan.

"Why are we going to bed so early on a Friday night?" Kyle asks.

Stan doesn't want to experience the post-sex awkwardness that is sure to follow. Nonetheless, he doesn't say that. "I don't know," is all he says. "I'm just tired."

Nonetheless, Kyle doesn't protest. He shifts towards Stan, pulling him close. Moments later, he feels Stan relax against him, so he closes his eyes and thinks about everything that's been happening in his life. He thinks about how the fighting died down and how tense things have been among his own friends. He thinks about his unfortunate experience with Cartman, he thinks about his drunken experience with Kenny and his sober experience with Stan. He thinks about how much time Kenny has spent with each of them. He thinks it's funny what an incestuous group of friends they are. The only ones who haven't _hooked up_ are Stan and Cartman. 'Like _hell_ that'd happen,' he thinks to himself. 'Gross.'

Perhaps, in a way, the fights with Craig's gang were just an attempt to distract each other from the drama within their own group of friends.

Ha.

* * *

"… like a light snowfall in the middle of a crisp, winter's day…"

Tweek's anxiety is piling up to new and horrifying amounts. When he's not with Craig, the guilt only gets worse because he has no way to distract himself. He knows the truth will come out, but still he hesitates. The words get stuck in his throat. No matter how badly he wants to tell Craig the truth, he can't. He's scared. There's a voice in his head telling him not to – it's warning him and threatening him with what-ifs.

What if Cartman finds out he told the truth?

What if his parents go to prison? Would that make him an orphan? Where would he go?

What if Craig never forgives him?

Either way, he loses.

Stan's gang has once again gotten him into trouble - trouble he never asked for.

"Tweek, honey," his mother's simpering voice brings him out of his thoughts. He's sitting with his parents in the living room. Since they don't believe in television, they're listening to the radio instead. Family time is always awkward at the Tweak house. It usually includes ambient music and too much weed. His dad still talks in metaphors and they drive Tweek madder than ever.

"Yeah?" he nearly shrieks in response. He can see the smoke wafting throughout the room.

"What's on your mind?" she asks.

"Yeah, son," his father cuts in. "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," he squeaks.

"Here, honey," his mother passes him the joint, "Relax."

Tweek takes it gladly, inhaling. Part of him wishes he'd get so high he'd never come back down. But instead, he just gets tired. When midnight passes, he announces, "I'm going to bed."

* * *

Stan is still lying in Kyle's arms when morning comes. Since they went to bed early, they wake up around 9AM and don't feel the need to sleep in.

"Kyle…?"

"Good morning," the redhead replies.

Stan wriggles out of his hold and sits up. A moment later, Kyle does the same. They stare at each other for a long minute, and then they both smile.

Things are going to be just fine… for now.

* * *

On the opposite side of town, Cartman and Kenny sit at Whistlin' Willy's, waiting for their food.

"I love little pussy," Kenny starts in a lewd tone, "her coat is so warm and if I don't hurt her, she'll do me no harm."

Cartman snorts back a laugh. "You hate pussy."

"I'm pretty gay," Kenny admits with seriousness, "but even I like to eat the pussy every so often."

Cartman chuckles at that.

"Come on," Kenny says. "Don't you like poems and rhymes?"

"No," Cartman snorts. "They're for kids."

Kenny frowns, wrinkling his nose at the chubby teenager. "We're still kids, y'know. Sixteen is young."

"Fine," Cartman relents. "I have a good one."

"Really?" Kenny asks suspiciously.

Cartman nods before starting, "Once upon a midnight so dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, suddenly there came a raving and I was overcome with a sinister craving. 'Tis a visitor,' I muttered, 'at my chamber door – only this and nothing more.' So I opened the door to see a raven and a beautiful young maiden. I grabbed the raven and ripped off its head and then grabbed the maiden and cockslapped before tearing out her eyes and fucking her sockets. Then she died. The end!"

Kenny's jaw drops. "No!" he exclaims.

"Don't find it chilling, twas a mercy killing," Cartman continues to rhyme.

"Stop!" Kenny tries to sound angry but he can't stop a laugh from escaping. "That was so vulgar."

"Says you," Cartman smirks. "So, how long has it been since you've eaten something?"

"Um," Kenny muses. "I ate yesterday."

"Did you?"

The blond nods.

"Pop tarts?" Cartman asks knowingly.

"Yeah," Kenny admits. "Food is food."

"No wonder you're so damn small. Your damn girlfriend is taller than you."

"Not my girlfriend," he corrects.

"Fag hag," Cartman snorts. "Whatever."

"And you're a fag stag," Kenny retorts.

A moment later, their pizza arrives. Kenny grabs a slice and immediately begins eating. "If the damn Jew was here, he'd start bitching at how you should be eater healthier," Cartman notes.

"Oh, well," Kenny shrugs. "Not like it matters what I eat in the end, right?"

"True," Cartman snorts. "At least I'm keeping you fed. He's oblivious."

Kenny smiles at him before taking another bite.

"I'm still the only one who knows, huh?" Cartman asks. "About the dyin' and shit…"

"Yup," the blond nods. "I don't even think my parents really understand what the fuck happens. They probably write it off as a weird trip or something."

"Hm," Cartman muses. "Well, whatever. Everyone's stupid."

"I wonder what makes you so damn special, though," Kenny laughs. "You've always been the only one who knows I die and come back."

"Because I pay attention," Cartman says simply.

"Is that all?" Kenny wonders.

"That's all," Cartman insists.

* * *

A few Saturdays later and a few more therapy sessions later, Craig is getting sick of Jason and he is getting sick of having to swap secrets with people he's not fond of.

"How was therapy yesterday?" Tweek asks him at they sit down at a table. He is on break and Craig decided to visit him and his parents' coffee shop.

"Gay," Craig says. "But then again, so am I so I guess that's not saying much."

Tweek lets out a little laugh. "Did you just make a joke?"

"Maybe," Craig says, smiling lightly. "Look… I've been thinking about something."

"What?" Tweek asks, tilting his head to the side.

"It…" he pauses, pressing his lips together. "It's not something I can really say. I have to show you it."

"Oh…?"

Craig sighs in irritation at himself for not knowing how to put his feelings into words. "Come over after work, okay? I'll show you then."

Tweek twitches, feeling anxious. "I'm g-going to be worried now."

"Don't be," Craig says. "It doesn't have anything to do with you."

"Ng! Okay…" the blond relents for now.

* * *

Later on in the day, Craig paces around his house as he waits for his boyfriend. They've slept together just once since the first time and Craig has given the blond countless blowjobs, but that's all. Their first time was much like their second - in dim lighting with Craig fully dressed. They've been together for nearly two months and Craig still hasn't shown Tweek what he keeps hidden. It's just like Clyde said – if he wants a real relationship, he needs to be honest. So, that's what he plans on doing. For the first time in his life, he's going to willingly show himself to another person. Completely.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, retard?" Ruby asks as he enters the kitchen.

"Nothing," Craig says. "I'm fine."

Ruby scoffs at that. "You've been pacing for an hour! It's annoying to watch. Just sit down!"

Craig relents, sitting down at the kitchen table but as soon as he's seated, the doorbell rings. He jumps up again and leaves the room, answering the door. When he swings it open, Tweek is standing there looking wide-eyed.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi," Craig echoes, allowing him in and shutting the door behind him.

Tweek hangs up his coat and slips out of his boots before following the brunet upstairs and into his room, feeling more and more anxious by the second. "Craig…" he says his name once they're standing in his bedroom. "What is it?"

Craig lets out a sigh and sits on the edge of his bed, patting the spot next to him. Tweek sits beside him and waits for Craig to start talking again.

"So," the brunet starts, "I told Clyde we're together and he brought up a valid point worth mentioning. I denied it at the time, but I thought it over. Anyway, he said you can't have a good relationship if you're hiding things."

"You're hiding something?" Tweek croaks, not liking where the conversation is headed. Cartman is still asking him about his relationship with Craig. He's making jokes about it and Tweek knows it's going to fall apart as soon as Craig finds out that Cartman started this… but Tweek doesn't want it to fall apart. It's just getting harder and harder to keep lying.

"Yeah," Craig admits after a brief silence.

"Is it something bad?" Tweek's voice cracks.

"Depends on your definition of bad, I guess," Craig says. "But like I said, it doesn't have anything to do with you, so stop freaking out."

"We're together, so if it has to do with you then it has to do with me," Tweek reasons.

"Maybe," Craig considers. He rubs a palm down his face and clears his throat. "All right," he says, curling his fingers around one of his wrists.

Tweek stares down, confused for a moment until Craig lifts his sleeve up, revealing various bruises, cuts and burns. There's not even one patch of unblemished skin.

"Oh," Tweek says hoarsely.

"Yeah…"

Silence.

"Are you repulsed?" Craig asks, taking in Tweek's shock.

The blond shakes his head. "Surprised…"

"Hm."

"It's an addiction, right? You can't help it… but it must get lonely keeping it a secret and having to hide. I understand why you always wear long-sleeved shirts. Even during gym class. Even in the summertime."

"Yeah," is all Craig says.

"Are you sad?" Tweek asks.

"No," Craig insists. "I'm more… dissociated… detached. That's what the doctor said. I want to keep it that way."

"You see a doctor?"

He shakes his head. "I did once… won't make that mistake again."

"Why?"

"My mom caught me hitting my wrists off my nightstand when I was fourteen. So, she forced me to go. They wanted to put me on happy pills, but I basically said fuck that."

"Is it a punishment?" Tweek wonders.

"I don't know," the brunet admits. "It's euphoric."

"H-how do you do it?" Tweek pries, hoping Craig won't shut him out if the questions get too personal.

"Wrist banging, blades, cigarettes, matches…" he trails off. "Whatever I can get my hands on, really."

Tweek shifts closer, reaching towards Craig and curling his fingers around the rim of his shirt. When he doesn't protest, Tweek lifts it up, staring at his stomach. There are fainter scars visible. Tweek touches them. They don't feel rough against his fingers. He didn't notice them when it was dark, but he sees them now and they're clear as day – pink and white lines of skin. Some are thick and jagged while others are thin and faint. "This is why you don't like taking your clothes off," Tweek realizes.

"Hm," is all Craig says. "Did you know that when a person is hurt, their body works to dull the pain? It releases endorphins. They relax you... calm you down… It feels fucking good."

"Oh," the blond whispers. "Where else are they?"

Craig lets out a sigh. "Thighs, stomach, and all up my arms to my shoulders… a few on my chest and near my collar bone."

"I don't know what else to say," Tweek says quietly, letting go of Craig's shirt.

"That's fine."

"No, it's –" he starts, but Craig cuts him off.

"Look, I don't _want_ people to tell me it gets better. I don't _want_ people to cringe or give me pity or tell me to fucking stop, okay?" he says coldly. "I don't need any of that. I just want someone to fucking sit and listen to me when I talk and not give me their sympathetic opinion on how I can better myself and all that shit. No, I don't want to kill myself. That's not what this does. I'm just trying to fucking calm myself down so I can breathe... so I can step back into my own body."

"Okay," Tweek's voice breaks. "There's often a reason, right?"

"For what?"

"Dissociation," he specifies. "Feeling detached."

Craig nods, pressing his lips together.

"What happened to you, Craig?"

The brunet lets out a bitter laugh, rubbing his eyes with his palms. "It's pretty bad," he says.

"I'll listen," Tweek promises.

Craig sits up straight, letting out a breath before speaking. Honesty, right? Here goes. "When I was little, one of my cousins was visiting from Denver…" he starts. "She stayed with us for a week and then we drove back. There was a snowstorm that evening. Nothing atypical in this town, right? Well, we hit black ice and our car flipped. We went down a hill. Everyone screamed and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in a hospital. My mom was hovering over me. I didn't understand what was going on because she was crying… My dad was still unconscious and my cousin, well, she died. We had to go identify the body. I got away with a concussion and some scrapes. My dad was in a coma for a few days… but my cousin was literally in pieces. Mom told me to wait outside, but I didn't and I saw. I don't know. They said she went right through the window. I don't know how something like that even happened. She was just small body parts on a steel table... arms, legs, torso, head... Her eyes were still open. I felt like they were staring right at me... _through_ me. I guess something in me snapped, but I didn't notice it happen. I didn't even react. It's like... I recognize that this is the problem, but I still can't help but feel this way." Craig speaks with heartbreaking ease and Tweek can tell how much he's distancing himself from the memory. Tweek is frowning, nodding along to what Craig is saying and trying hard not to look piteous even though he feels it. He doesn't say anything when Craig is finished speaking. If he did, he knows it would be the wrong thing. Instead, he leans forward and wraps his arms around Craig's shoulders. For a long time, they stay like that. "Thanks," Craig suddenly murmurs.

A moment later they break apart and Tweek asks, "What for?"

"Not… y'know, being a total bitch about it," Craig says. "Clyde is always saying the wrong things."

"Because he doesn't understand," Tweek says.

"And you do?" Craig wonders.

Tweek smiles a small smile. "I've been going to therapy for a while. At one point, I did group therapy with a bunch of different kids. I learned a lot about people and their problems."

Craig simply nods.

"So, can I see?" Tweek asks.

"See what?"

"You," he specifies.

Craig wrinkles his nose.

"Please…?"

"Fine," he relents, standing up and walking across his room to lock the door. He lets out a breath and reaches for the edge of his shirt, pulling it off before unbuttoning his jeans with shaky fingers. He stares at the wall with his back to Tweek, not quite ready to face him.

From the bed, Tweek watches him undress. "Craig…" he murmurs.

"Mm?" he asks offhandedly, still staring intently at the wall. He pushes his jeans down, stepping out of then once they pool at his bare feet.

"Come here," Tweek requests. He can see Craig staring down at himself, as if he's trying to force apathy. Soon, he finally turns around and Tweek takes in the damage as he draws closer. His arms are scarred up to his shoulders. His stomach is covered with fainter scares as well. 'Holy shit,' he thinks to himself, careful to keep his expression blank. Craig stands in front of him and Tweek stares up from where he's seated.

Tweek moves his hands up to feel Craig's heart. It's beating rapidly. He trails his hands back down Craig's chest, slipping them into the rim of his boxer shorts and pulling them down. He swallows harshly, trying not to react negatively and trying to hide his shock. There are more scars on his thighs and some of them are new. Some of them are still in the process of healing.

"It's bad… right?" Craig asks offhandedly.

Tweek looks up and sees Craig staring at the wall again. "I don't care about that," Tweek says, wrapping his arms around Craig's waist and pressing his face into his stomach. "Do you?"

"Sometimes," Craig admits, staring down at the blond head of hair. "Sometimes I like some of them… sometimes I hate everything. I don't know."

"Don't feel like you need to hide them," Tweek continues. "Wear whatever you want. If it's nice outside, don't be afraid to put on a t-shirt."

"And give Eric Cartman this much leverage?" Craig wrinkles his nose. "No thanks."

"I don't think anyone would listen to him," Tweek reasons.

"People don't exactly like me," Craig states the obvious. "I don't really feel like causing trouble for myself."

"But don't you do that every time you fight?"

"That's a different kind of trouble…" Craig admits.

The blond draws back and smiles up at Craig. "If you say so."

Craig sits on the bed next to Tweek, lying back so his legs hang over the side. Tweek hovers over him, still raking over the damage. 'It looks painful…' he thinks to himself. He bends down and pecks Craig on the lips. "How do you feel?"

"Okay," Craig says. "I've never shown anyone before. I've never been naked in front of anyone else."

"None of your friends know?" Tweek frowns.

"They do," the brunet says, "but they haven't seen this much. I didn't want Clyde or Token to find out, but shit happens, so they did. I'm just fuckin' glad Jason wasn't around for it."

"How'd they find out?" Tweek pries.

Craig wrinkles his nose at the memory. "It happened last year," he starts. "It was the weekend. I got alcohol from some older guy I sucked off and then I went to Token's. I got _really_ drunk and got sick on myself, so they had to help me clean up. Anyway, Clyde took my shirt off and started freaking out and then Token started freaking out and I was barely conscious so I didn't really care at the moment I just wanted them to be quiet so I could sleep. So, Token gave me a shirt to borrow and they carried me to the guest room. He let me keep the shirt, even though it was an expensive brand name. I think he was just grossed out it touched my scabby abdomen and he didn't want it back."

"Oh, wow," Tweek whispers sadly.

"Naturally, they confronted me about it in the morning, but I was too hung over to talk," Craig snorts. "They mentioned it again the next day but I wasn't in the mood to talk. Token dropped it, but Clyde still brings it up. He thinks he knows… He thinks he gets it, but he doesn't."

Tweek nods thoughtfully. "Do your parents know?"

"I think so," Craig says, "but they definitely don't know how bad it is."

"You do _pick-ups_ sometimes, right?" Tweek asks.

Craig nods. "That's how I get alcohol… but I haven't since we got together…"

"Me… –ng–! Me neither," Tweek admits.

"Good."

The blond smiles at that. "So, does this mean you like me?"

"Of course I do," Craig says, staring up at him. "If I didn't, I wouldn't stay and I wouldn't show you think much of myself. I've never done this before. You grew on me."

Tweek sits up and removes his t-shirt before standing and removing his jeans and shorts. Once he's naked he gets in Craig's bed and settles beneath the covers. Craig sits up turns the lights off before doing the same. He puts an arm around Tweek, letting the blond settle against him.

'What now?' Tweek thinks to himself, hoping Cartman won't wreck this for him yet.

* * *

After school the following day, Craig spots Tweek in the hallway talking to none other than Eric Cartman. After the fat teenager walks off, he approaches the blond and immediately questions him. "Why were you talking to that asshole?" he asks.

"No reason," Tweek sighs. "He was just being a dick."

Craig's eyes narrow. "What was he saying?"

Tweek shakes his head. "Nothin'. Don't worry about it."

"Why not?" Craig crosses his arms.

"You don't need any more reasons to hate him and fight with him," Tweek murmurs. "I don't want you guys to keep fighting… just… just ignore one another."

"No can do," Craig dismisses.

"Why not?" Tweek asks shakily.

"Because this has been going on way too long," Craig murmurs. "I can't just start ignoring them all like a pussy."

"Who cares what they think?" the blond tries.

Craig rolls his eyes. "Even if I wanted to, they wouldn't just let me ignore them. You know that. I know that. The whole fucking school knows that. Besides, I'm not the kind of person who can just ignore that kind of shit. When someone wrongs me, they're on my shit list for good."

"Oh," Tweek croaks.

Craig raises a brow. "What he fuck is wrong with you today, anyway? Saying all this stuff…"

"Nothing," the blond insists quickly. "I'm sorry. L-let's go."

Craig relents, shrugging it off for now. Side-by-side, the two of them leave the building.


	10. Group therapy: Trust fall

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Since my friends are toads and cancelled our weekend plans, here we go~**

* * *

On the following Friday, Tweek waits for Craig after school while the boys are in group therapy with Mr. Mackey.

In the guidance counsellor's office, Mr. Mackey is making the boys do trust falls – something Craig has quite the problem with because he's not big on trust. "There's no fucking way I'm doing that," he scoffs indignantly.

"We won't drop you," Stan snaps.

"If they drop you, I'll give them detention," Mr. Mackey says, weary and tired of all the arguing. "Hm, Stan why don't you go first this time."

"Fine," Stan murmurs.

"Craig, you better catch him."

Craig rolls his eyes in response, watching as Stan readies himself. He's not too worried. Second to Kenny, Stan is the smallest guy in the room. When he falls backwards, Craig catches him with ease and they quickly untangle.

"Good, good," Mr. Mackey says. "Now, reverse."

"No," Craig says.

"Do it," Mr. Mackey demands.

"Fuck," Craig mutters, eying Stan before turning around and forcing himself to fall backwards. Stan catches him and they untangle themselves again.

"Token and Eric, why don't you two go next," Mr. Mackey suggests.

Token shakes his head. "I'm not going to touch a racist."

"M'kay," Mr. Mackey muses. "How about Token and Kenny, then."

The blond jumps to his feet and stands with his back to Token before letting himself fall. Token catches him without a problem and then says, "Er, I don't want to break him…"

"M'kay, that's fine," Mr. Mackey says. "You two can it down then. Jason and Eric, your turn."

"He's too fat," Jason deadpans.

"I'm not fat, I'm ripped and sweet," Cartman insists.

"Fat and unimportant," Jason corrects, scandalizing the chubby teenager.

Mr. Mackey lets out a sound of impatience. "Clyde and Kyle?" he tries.

* * *

After the session Craig parts ways with Clyde, Token and Jason, meeting Tweek in the library. "Hey," he greets the blond.

"Hey," Tweek says, closing the book he's been reading and putting it in his backpack. Together, the two of them leave the school.

Outside, he spots Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny. He sneers at them. Kenny is sharing a cigarette with Stan while Kyle and Cartman bicker with one another. Kyle is red-faced, per usual, and Cartman just looks smug.

"Ay!" Cartman shouts upon noticing Craig and Tweek.

"What?" Craig snaps and Tweek goes rigid when a devious smiles spreads across Cartman's lips.

Kenny puts a hand on his shoulder, trying to hold him back but to no avail. He is shaken off easily. "You two fags now?" Cartman asks them.

"It's not really any of your fucking business, is it?" Craig asks. Kyle, Stan and Kenny begin backing off slowly. Craig frowns, feeling uneasy.

"Oh, but you see… it kind of is," Catman simpers, still smiling insincerely. "Do you want to know _why_?"

"Stop…" Tweek whispers shakily.

Craig narrows his eyes, glancing at him before returning his gaze to the fat teenager. "What the fuck is going on?"

"You see," Cartman starts, "a couple months ago you pissed us off quite a lot so do you know what we did?"

"Cartman!" Kyle snaps. "Come on or we're leaving without you!"

Cartman ignores him and continues talking to Craig. "We went to Tweek and said, 'You know what would be funny? If you pretended to be into Craig.' We thought it'd be funny to soften up the guy whose greatest fear is _love_."

Kenny, Kyle and Stan run off after Cartman reveals their cruel game. They don't want to be around in case Craig Tucker explodes... but he doesn't. Craig remains blank faced for a moment after Cartman finishes talking. He lets out a breath, tightening his fist and burying it into Cartman's smug face.

Then he walks away.

"Craig…!" Tweek calls, running after him.

"No," is all the brunet says, quickening his pace.

"Craig!" Tweek tries once more.

"No."

"CRAIG!"

"No."

"Let me explain!"

"No."

"Please…!" Tweek struggles to keep up with Craig's pace, finding it unsettling that he doesn't seem angrier.

"No."

"Please!"

"No."

Tweek puts a hand on Craig's arm, causing the brunet to spin around and curl his fingers around Tweek's neck. Tweek gasps, surprised at the violence. Craig looks just as surprised. He lets go a moment later and takes a step back.

"Hurt me," Tweek whispers.

"Would that make _you_ feel better?" Craig asks. He lets out a scoff and turns around again. "Stop following me. We're done… not that it matters to you whatsoever." After that, he starts running and Tweek doesn't bother trying to follow.

As soon as he enters his house, the dam breaks in his mind and he feels his head spin. He slams the door as loud as he can and begins to hyperventilate. His parents ask him what's wrong, but he doesn't answer.

He stomps upstairs and locks himself in his room, panting. "Fuck!" he shouts as loud as he can. "FUCK! FUUUUCK!" He grabs the lamp on his nightstand and whirls it into the wall, emitting a loud crash as the glass shatters.

"Craig!" he hears his parents shouting at him from downstairs, but he ignores them. He grabs the books off his book shelf and starts throwing them around as well. He bangs his fists against the wall until it breaks, swallowing his hand. He pauses, panting some more and feeling angrier than he's ever been in his life.

His mom is banging on his door. She's not yelling anymore. There's concern evident in her tone. "Craig, honey… open the door. Please…"

He surveys his room, looking at the mess he made. He sinks to the floor and lies down on the carpet before letting out a sob. What's worse than the anger is the complete and utter humiliation.

"Craig, please!" he can hear his mom's voice, but he doesn't budge.

Stan's gang got one over him this time. It's the first time in a long time Craig has cried and it's loud, messy, ugly and too painful. For a while, he can't bring himself to move.

His mom is no longer at his door. She gave up. Craig forces himself to a sitting position, digging a half empty bottle of rye from under his bed. The alcohol burns its way down his throat and he welcomes it. He doesn't want to keep feeling this way. He takes a deep breath – a calm breath. "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay…" he keeps whispering to himself. He takes another sip, cringing at the taste.

A few minutes later, there's another knock on his door. "What?" he snaps.

"Hey…" It's Clyde.

Craig lets out a sound of irritation before getting up and unlocking his door. He sits down on his bed and when Clyde swings open the door he asks, "What do you want?"

"Your mom called me over… she said you won't leave your room," he starts, grimacing at Craig's appearance. "Did you cry? You look awful."

"Cheers," Craig says hoarsely, raising the bottle and swirling the contents around.

"What the fuck happened?" Clyde asks. "Your hand is bleeding."

"I don't care."

Clyde shakes his head, leaving the room briefly. When he returns, he has the first aid kid. "Come on, man. What happened?" he asks as he cleans and bandages his best friend's hand.

"It was all a big fucking joke," Craig says, forcing out a bitter laugh. "I got played."

"What do you mean?" Clyde frowns, finishing.

"Tweek was never into me," he reveals. "Cartman put him up to it… Fuck, he's good at acting. I thought he really cared."

"What…?" Clyde's frown deepens.

"It's funny," Craig murmurs, sighing. "I took your advice, y'know. For the first time in my life I decided to trust someone and show them myself willingly. It all got thrown in my stupid face. I guess I deserve it for such a lap in judgement. People are shit, the end." He shakes his head at himself and his own naivety before chugging the rest of the bottle.

"Christ!" Clyde exclaims. "If you keep drinking like that, you'll give yourself alcohol poisoning."

"Whatever," Craig snorts, letting the empty bottle fall to the carpet before lying down.

Clyde lets out a sigh, picking the bottle up and setting it on Craig's nightstand. He begins picking up Craig's books and things, putting them back in their rightful place. Craig shuts his eyes and lets Clyde clean his room. It's not the first time he's had a temper tantrum and broke something. It happens. Craig blows up when things get too tough and stifling becomes too difficult.

Craig lets out a miserable moan, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. His head hurts from crying too hard.

When Clyde is finished tidying Craig's room, he starts asking questions again. "So, what _exactly_ happened?"

"I told you…" he murmurs.

"Vaguely…"

Craig stands up and shoves Clyde. "Stop asking questions!" he shouts loudly, invading Clyde's personal space.

Clyde looks taken aback. For a moment, he doesn't say anything, he only stares. "I'm not the one you want to be fighting, Craig," he finally speaks.

Craig lets out a guilty sigh, grabbing Clyde's face and planting one on his lips. It's not gentle. With Craig, it's never gentle. The kiss is rough, their lips pressed so tightly together it hurts and Clyde tastes the alcohol. "Are we cool?" Craig asks once they part.

"Yeah, we're cool," Clyde whispers.

Craig gives him a slap on the shoulder before turning away. "You're right," he says. "Let's go find them. I want to kill them."

"Craig…" Clyde tries to reason, though he knows it won't do any good. Craig never listens to a word he says. He follows his best friend downstairs, where he decides to play good son.

He gives his mom a sympathetic smile, kissing her cheek. "I'm sorry," he says, sounding genuine though Clyde knows it's an emotionless sentiment. His eyes are still bloodshot and he's still flush-faced.

"It's okay," she says somewhat cautiously.

He nods before once more turning away and frowning. "You know," Clyde whispers to him. "You said Tweek is a good actor… Well, fuck, so are you and look at you using it against the people you care about."

"I don't play with people the way Tweek played with me," Craig bites out. "I'm going to kill Cartman. Maybe I'll also kill Stan for the sake of it… and if Kenny and Kyle had anything to do with it, I'll kill them as well."

"What about Tweek?" Clyde asks.

"Fuck him," Craig says. "I'll kill him, too."

"Liar," Clyde mutters.

"Fuck off," Craig sighs.

"No, like hell I'd leave you alone like this," Clyde says. "You're self-destructive… and a little bit drunk."

"Not really."

"Liar," he mutters once more. "Go back upstairs, Craig. Take a nap. Try not to think."

Craig shakes his head. "No. I need to fucking… _do_ something…"

"Then do something healthy," Clyde says. "Don't swing your fists at a fat kid who could crush you by sitting on you. You're not as strong as Token, Jason, Kyle… For fuck's sake, I'm probably stronger than you are. Cartman will probably end up hurting you and you'll just be angrier."

Craig stares at Clyde in disbelief before letting out a scoff. "Whose side are you on?"

"Yours," Clyde promises, "and that's why I'm being intrusive."

"Well, just fucking stop it," Craig murmurs and Clyde ushers him back upstairs. "It's only six," he adds.

"So?" Clyde shrugs. "Want me to call Token over? We can chill for a few hours and distract you."

"I don't need a distraction, you ignorant fuck!" Craig snaps.

"Hm," Clyde says, not fazed by the angry outburst. "I'm going to call Token."

"Whatever," Craig mutters. "I'm going to piss."

"Okay," Clyde says offhandedly as he texts Token.

But instead of walking out of the room and across the hall, he walks down the stairs and leaves the house.

After waiting impatiently for Craig to arrive back from his bathroom trip, Clyde leaves the room and realizes the Craig didn't go to the bathroom. "Damn it," he says, pulling his phone out again. He shoots another text to Token and tells him they need to look for Craig.

TOKEN B: Why?

CLYDE D: he ran off so hes probs gonna do something dumb

TOKEN B: There's no way I'm walking around town looking for his stunned ass. We'll take my car.

CLYDE D: ok hurry

* * *

Craig hops in a stranger's car. "Hey," he says, sitting in the passenger seat.

The man says nothing as they drive to a secluded area. Once they park, he simply stares and Craig knows he's being examined critically. Sometimes people are picky. "How much?" the man finally asks, bringing a hand up to touch Craig's face and lips.

"I'll blow you for forty," Craig says.

"Twenty," the man negotiates.

Craig wants to scoff, but he doesn't. "Thirty."

"Thirty," the man agrees before unzipping his jeans.

Craig does the rest and when it's over, he's given a twenty and a ten. He doesn't bother muttering a _thanks_. He just pockets the cash and on whim asks, "Hey… do you know where I could get a gun?"

"Why?" he man asks, staring Craig down. "Do you wanna kill someone?"

"Probably not."

"Do you wanna kill yourself?"

"Probably not."

"Then why the hell d'you need a gun for?"

"I want to, mm, scare someone," he says slowly, considering his future actions.

"Well, I don't fuckin' know where a _kid_ can get a gun," the man shrugs. "You'd probably have to do it illegally."

"Damn," Craig whispers. "Fine, then." He leaves the car without another word. Once the man drives off, Craig bends down and digs his hands into a patch of freshly fallen snow, picking up a pile of it. He brings it to his mouth and sticks out his tongue, wanting to rid himself of the taste in his mouth – it's salty and metallic and it's the taste he hates most. It's a reminder of how pathetic this town is. Kids can get away with so much and nobody knows and nobody cares.

"You're only sixteen," his mother often says to him. "You can't do everything by yourself."

But he does. He always has.


	11. Say goodbye to rationality

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**And thus begins Craig's downward spiral dun dun duuuun. **

* * *

Clyde and Token find Craig walking on the main road. It doesn't take them long. They pull up and Clyde rolls down the window, wearily saying, "Get in, loser."

Craig does so, hopping in the backseat of Token's car. "Drive to the liquor store," he demands.

"Why?" Token asks. "You're sixteen, not twenty-one."

"Just do it," Craig says with a sigh. "I have thirty dollars and you know if you give the cashiers a few extra bucks they'll sell to minors."

"True," Clyde murmurs. "How'd you get thirty bucks?"

"You know," Craig hints vaguely. He won't say it out loud. Somehow, that would make it all worse than it already is.

"Gross," Clyde grimaces from the front seat. Token just shakes his head, careful to keep his eyes on the road.

Mere minutes later, they pull up in front of the liquor store and Craig gets out of the car. Clyde and Token wait for him. "So, what the fuck happened to him?" Token asks Clyde. "Why is he acting so sour? I mean... he's not exactly Mr. Sunshine, but this is a bit much."

"He'll kill me if I say…"

"It's just me," Token reasons. "Who am I going to tell?"

"Yeah…" Clyde relents. He's never been good at keeping secrets. "Craig was seeing Tweek. Yeah, in the gay way. Earlier today, he found out that Cartman was the one to tell Tweek to go after Craig. He probably thought it'd be funny. Anyway, I guess Craig had developed some pretty strong feelings for him because now he's going off the rails."

"Shit," Token mutters. "That Nazi needs to be put in a coma."

"Harsh words coming from you," Clyde laughs. Token is usually patient and kind, but not when it comes to Eric Cartman. Who can blame him?

Craig returns a few minutes later with a bottle. "What did you get?" Token asks as Craig gets in the backseat.

"Tequila," he says.

"Yuck," Clyde adds his opinion.

"Faggot," Craig retorts and the ride back to his house is silent.

* * *

"What happened to your wall?" Token immediately asks when they enter Craig's bedroom. He gestures to the hole, eyebrow raised.

"Punched it," Craig says, cracking open the bottle of tequila and drinking it straight.

"Jesus Christ," Token mutters. "Aren't your parents pissed? You could've hurt yourself."

"The amount of apathy I'm feeling right now is overwhelming," Craig states flatly. "Please stop talking." He sits on his bed, leaning against a pillow. Clyde sits down next to him while Token settles at the bottom of the bed, criss-crossing his legs as he stares Craig down.

"You can be so disappointing, you know," he says.

"Boohoo," Craig deadpans, taking a swig of tequila. "Cry me a river."

"How can you drink it straight like that?" Clyde asks, murmuring the question as if he fears his friend's volatility. "It tastes like turpentine..."

In response, Craig only gives him a look of disinterest.

* * *

Late into the night, Craig gets drunker and things get fuzzy. Clyde is half awake next to him while Token is keeping an eye on things.

"M'gonna go t'th'bafroom," Craig slurs, standing up and stumbling almost immediately. He leans against the wall for support as he slowly walks out the door.

Token rolls his eyes. "Don't get lost." He lets out a sigh, leaning backwards onto the mattress. He closes his eyes, but tries hard to keep from drifting off. Many minutes pass, but Craig still isn't back. With another sigh, he stands up and leaves the room, walking across the hallway and knocking on the bathroom door. "Craig…?"

Nothing.

"Craig?"

"Yeah?" comes the nasally response.

"What are you doing?" Token pries cautiously.

"Nothin'… Jeez."

Token frowns, not quite believing it. "What's taking you so long?"

"Nunna yer damn business."

Token rattles the lock. "Come on, open the door."

"No."

He walks back into Craig's room and rifles through his dresser before finding a fine-toothed comb. He walks back to the bathroom and uses it to pick the lock open. He swings open the door and Craig is standing over the sink, staring at him with wide eyes.

"What…?" Token murmurs, taking in his expression before looking down. "Fuck!"

"I cut too deep…" Craig whispers as he holds his bloody wrist over the sink.

"You're not supposed to just let it bleed, you idiot!" Token hisses, shutting the door and grabbing the towel hanging on the rack. He grabs Craig's wrist and presses the towel against the cut.

"Don't call me an idiot," Craig says a minute later.

"Delayed response," Token notes. "Anyway, I'm sorry."

"S'fine…"

"If it doesn't stop bleeding I'll have to take you to the hospital and tell your parents," Token says.

"Don't do that."

"It's for the best," he says. "I mean, shit, what were you thinking? Your parents are downstairs. If they found you unconscious and bloody, they'd be so fucking upset. You'd be taken to a hospital and the nurses would undress you and they'd see your body and they'd be forced to tell your parents. Think before you act next time."

"Hm," Craig muses. They sink to the floor and Craig sits between Token's legs as the other teenager holds the towel firmly on his wrist. "Hurts… you're pressing too hard."

"I'm trying to stop the bleeding," Token says.

Craig closes his eyes and sighs, leaning his forehead against Token's shoulder. "Tired…" he murmurs.

"Stay awake," Token commands.

"I'm trying…" Craig insists. "Don't tell Clyde…"

"I won't," Token promises. A few minutes later, Craig sits up and Token removes the towel. "Hey, it stopped."

"Good," Craig says. "That was somewhat sobering…"

Token shakes his head in disbelief. "Where do you keep bandages?"

"Under the sink."

Token gets the first aid kit out and says, "I'm going to clean it, so it might sting."

Craig holds his wrist out as Token gets an antibacterial wipe. His glassy eyes squeeze shut. "Fuck…" he whispers.

"Sorry," Token says unremorsefully before slapping a big bandage over the cut. "There."

"Thanks," Craig mutters, rinsing the sink out while Token throws the towel in the garbage. After the evidence is gone, they go back into Craig's room. Clyde is already fast asleep on Craig's bed, having missed the most gruesomely exciting part of the night.

"So," Craig starts. "Aren't you going to bitch at me and tell me to quit?"

"No," Token answers without thought or hesitance.

"Why?"

"Because it won't work," Token tells him knowingly. "My opinion on your coping mechanism doesn't matter. There are things you should and shouldn't say in a situation like this. Telling you to stop is one of the things I shouldn't say."

"You called me an idiot," Craig mentions.

"Yeah, slip of the tongue," Token says. "I was too shocked to think… I had a feeling you still did this kind of thing, but I wasn't sure."

"Now you know."

"Now I know."

* * *

On Saturday, Token and Clyde loiter at the Tucker residence in an attempt to keep an eye on Craig, though they haven't been doing the best job. On Sunday, they go home and Craig spends the day in his room listening to angry music. On Monday, he skips school. On Tuesday, he skips school again. Come Wednesday, he decides to get another bottle of alcohol. This means work. He foregoes class once again and instead makes his way to the end of the school parking lot. He sits and waits; thankful he's the only kid around. Everyone else is in class.

Soon enough, a car pulls up, a window rolls down and a burly stranger nods to Craig, who approaches the vehicle.

"How much?"

"I'll blow you for forty," Craig says, wanting to sigh at how many times he's said those exact words and how each time there's a negotiation.

"Thirty."

Now is no different. "Fine," Craig shrugs, getting in the car. Rather than parking in a secluded area, the man drives to a hotel outside of town. It makes Craig a little nervous, but he doesn't complain. "You're from out of town?" Craig asks as they get out of the car.

"I'm in Denver on business," the man explains vaguely.

Craig assumes it's dirty business because this guy looks sleazy. "So, how'd you hear about South Park's rep for young and desperate hookers?" he wonders.

"Everyone knows."

"And no one fucking cares…" Craig finishes quietly. Without another word, Craig follows him into the hotel lobby and upstairs to his room.

"Hey…" Craig murmurs, glancing at the stranger. "Do you know where a kid can get a gun?" He may as well ask. This guy looks like a far better chance than the last.

The man gives him a bemused smirk. "What for?"

"I want to prove a point."

"I _might_ know how you can get a gun," he teases the teenager.

"How?" Craig asks.

"Well," the man starts, "I could always get one for you."

"What's the catch?" Craig sighs. He knows where this is going.

"I think you know," he hints vaguely.

And he's right. Craig does know. This guy wants the entire special – not just a side dish. Craig weighs his options. Will this man still want to fuck him when he sees the scars? Does it even matter anymore? No. Nothing matters now. If Tweek was on Cartman's side all along, then the fat ass probably already knows what Craig keeps hidden. So instead of dwelling, Craig reaches for his belt buckle and says, "Fine."

"Wait," the man cuts in and Craig pauses. "Allow me…"

Craig lets his hands fall to his sides as the meaty man moves forward, unbuckling Craig's belt and unzipping his jeans. "Wait," he murmurs.

"What?" the man asks impatiently.

"Turn the lights off," Craig says.

"Why?"

"Trust me, you'll want them off."

His request goes ignored and a moment later –

"Christ, kid, what the fuck happened to you?" the man asks, clearly surprised. "You one of them cutters?"

"Talking… That's not what you are paying for," Craig says. He closes his eyes and zones out as the rest of his clothing is removed and he's bent over the mattress. His jaw tightens as his backside is invaded, but he doesn't protest. To get what you want, sometimes you need to give others what they want. It's the way of the world.

"Relax, kid," the man says with a chuckle. "Is this your first time or something?"

"No," Craig lies. "It's just been a while." He lets out a breath, forcing himself to relax. He feels a hand on the small of his back, steadying him and preventing him from lurching forward. 'Weird,' Craig thinks to himself. 'I never thought this would be me.'

The kids who fuck around like this for money like to make up rules for themselves to follow. First, it's hands only. A rub and tug in a fancy man's expensive car. It's hardly safe and most guys don't like to use condoms, but soon, it's the mouth. Though, they promise themselves that's as far as it goes. Hardly the case. Eventually they're in Craig's position – doing it for the first time and hating every second of it, but it's too late. Just a little more, just a little more. Kids think it won't be a big deal. They'll only do it once. What a lie! No one quits after the first time. The cycle has long begun. The cycle begins when you first put your hand on a stranger's cock for money. Hand jobs are like smoking weed – the gateway drug. Soon you're popping pills and drinking 'til you puke. Though, Craig prides himself on not being a fan of illegal drugs. It's not his style. This isn't his style either, but he's too angry to be rational.

"Ah…hh…" he closes his eyes at the burning sensation. "Fuck," he hisses under his breath, pushing his face into the mattress. "Go slower… that hurts."

But yet again, his request goes ignored.

'Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,' he thinks to himself, trying to get used to the tearing sensation. 'It's not supposed to feel like this, is it?'

* * *

By the end, Craig is in a daze and everything is hazy. He sits up straight, feeling a sharp pang in his lower spine as the man zips his pants back up. "I'll get you a gun," he says and Craig simply nods. "Same time, same place tomorrow," he continues.

Craig nods again. He doesn't bother wiping off before getting dressed. He just wants his clothes back on as soon as possible. His movements are groggy and this time he leaves with empty pockets, but tomorrow he'll get what he wants. Unless this guy decides to screw him over... but for Craig, it's worth the risk.

He walks to the nearest bus stop and gets out his phone to call his best friend. "Come get me," he demands. "I'm in Denver."

"_Why_?" Clyde asks, irritated. "_What the fuck_?"

"I can't walk straight," Craig states.

"_What happened_?" Clyde sounds worried.

"My ass hurts," he explains without a hint of emotion. "Now hurry the fuck up." He hangs up before Clyde can get another word in and he pockets his phone, gingerly sitting on a bench near a bus stop that leads out of town. He could easily get on that bus and leave Colorado, but he won't. He lets out a sigh, closing his eyes. 'And I still have to see that bastard one more time…' he muses to himself.

* * *

When Clyde pulls up in his father's van, he looks pissed off. Craig gets in the passenger's seat and gives him a cynical smile.

"Was it worth it?" Clyde bites as they drive off. "You degrade yourself and then what?"

Craig sighs. "I didn't _degrade_ myself. I just made a choice. Simple as that."

"What if you got herpes? Were you safe?"

"I'm not going to get herpes, Clyde," he says wearily.

"You know, if you get herpes you have it 'til you die."

"I don't have herpes, Clyde."

"Was there any blood?"

"No. He used lube… still hurt like a fucking bitch, though."

"Probably because you didn't want it," Clyde murmurs. "I mean, what the fuck were you trying to accomplish? Or was this just a silent _fuck you_ to Tweek?"

"Silent?" Craig repeats with a snort. "Hardly, but whatever. I need a shower."


	12. Group therapy: Getting close

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thanks for reviewing :)**

* * *

Come Thursday, Craig gets what he wants and he returns to school on Friday with the weapon stashed in his book bag. He spots Kyle talking to Rebecca. He could easily pull out his gun here and now... but he doesn't. Later, he sees Stan chatting with Wendy. He could do it here, but still he won't. He walks past Cartman teasing Butters. He sees Kenny and Bebe. Each time Craig is in the same room as them his heart palpitates. He has the power. He'll prove it soon enough, but it's not the right time. He needs to wait.

After school, they have group therapy. Craig contemplates skipping, but decides not to let Cartman and Stan get the best of him forever. So, he shows up and wears his remaining amount of dignity where everyone can see it.

"I'm going to put you all in pairs," Mr. Mackey starts. "You and your partner will face one another and when I give the go, you'll take steps forward. Once you're close enough, we'll get you to touch each other in a non-violent and harmless matter – a hand on the shoulder, m'kay. Make sure to keep eye contact."

"Gay," Cartman says.

"Be nice, m'kay. First pair is Stan and Craig. Second pair is Clyde and Kyle. Third pair is Kenny and Jason. Fourth pair is Token and Eric."

"For the millionth time, he's racist!" Token exclaims. "I'm not going near him!"

Mr. Mackey sighs. "Fine, then. Kenny, you'll go with Token and Jason can be with Eric. How's that, m'kay?"

Jason sneers, but keeps his trap shut. "Better," Token says, crossing his arms.

"Then why don't you two go first?" Mr. Mackey asks.

"How close do we have to get?" Kenny asks.

"As close as you want to get."

Kenny turns to Token and grins before wrapping his arms around the tall teenager. Token chuckles and does the same. "I think we're going to win," Kenny whispers.

"Probably," Token agrees, humored.

They part a moment later and Mr. Mackey looks pleased. "See? It's possible to make friends out of former enemies. M'kay, how about Clyde and Kyle next."

The two of them inch towards each other and once they're face to face, Kyle offers his hand. Clyde accepts, giving it a firm shake.

"Excellent," Mr. Mackey says. "Craig and Stan?"

Craig's jaw tightens as he eyes Stan. Stan has the audacity to look somewhat fearful. He steps towards Craig with slow caution. Once they're standing in front of one another, Craig lets out a breath and punches Stan square in the jaw. Stan falls backwards with a yelp and Kyle helps him stand.

"Craig, do you want detention?" Mr. Mackey asks.

"Isn't that what this is?" Craig bites.

"No, this is group therapy."

"Same bullshit," Craig mutters. "Whatever, I'm leaving. I have shit to do." Without another word, he leaves the room, holding his middle finger up on his way out.

"He's been a treat to deal with," Token says to Clyde with a sigh.

* * *

"What's wrong with Craig?" Kenny asks Token once their session is through.

"He's mad Tweek made him feel something when he'd rather just feel nothing."

"Oh," the blond says. "Funny… Craig is a bit like me. He feels nothing… but unlike me, he enjoys it. He wants to keep feeling nothing. I, on the other hand, want to feel everything and anything. I'm not sure which is worse."

"Either way, it sounds a bit dangerous," Token says.

"I told them not to play with Craig like that," Kenny adds. "They didn't listen. They never listen to me. Kyle backed me up, but they still went for it."

"They should've listened," Token sighs. "You seem to be the only one who knows what the fuck is going on."

"Oh, I am," Kenny confirms with confidence. "I'm kind of psychic."

Token chuckles at that, not quite believing him but choosing to humour him nonetheless. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," the blond winks.

"Then why the hell won't they listen to you?"

"Kyle is too smart, Stan is too dumb and Eric just doesn't care," Kenny explains simply. "He enjoys ruining things… things and people."

"What a psycho," Token mutters.

"Yup!" Kenny agrees. However, he chews on his lip and can't help but think, as sick as it sounds, that he prefers the chubby teenager that way. "Anyway, I better catch up with my crew." He waves at Token and runs ahead.

"What were you doing talking to that black asshole?" Cartman immediately asks.

Kenny doesn't answer. "Let us laugh and let us sing, dancing in a merry ring," he rehearses. "We'll be fairies on the green, playing 'round the fairy queen."

"Are you the fairy queen?" Kyle asks lightly.

"Maybe."

"Well, you're a _quean_ all right," Cartman cuts in with a snort.

"Tsk," Kyle clicks his tongue. "You're so awful."

"It's just jokes, Kahl," Cartman says flatly. "Christ, Jew-boy. Have a laugh."

"It's not okay to laugh at other people's expense," the redhead states, giving the chubby teenager a dry stare.

"He knows I'm kidding, don'tcha, Kinny?"

"Yeah!"

Cartman looks at Kyle and says, "Besides, no matter how dirty Kinny gets, there's always something pure and innocent as hell about him, y'know?"

"Oh, angel... Sounds like you're in _loooove_," Kyle taunts, smirk in place.

"Aw," Kenny coos at the chubby teenager. "Do you like me, Eric?"

"No," he scoffs loudly. "Don't be a faggot."

"I'm pretty sure we're long past that point," Kyle murmurs. "All four of us."

"Yeah," Stan agrees.

"Anyway," Cartman coughs. "Let's not go there today."

Kenny rolls his eyes before deciding it would be wise to change the subject. "Whose house can I crash at tonight?" he asks.

"Mine," Kyle offers. "I need to do something first, but you can come by around six."

"Your parents won't mind?" the blond wonders. "Sometimes I think they're worried I'm going to gay you up or something."

"Well, too late," Kyle says lightly with an awkward laugh. "Anyway, no, it's fine."

"Why can't you go to your own house?" Cartman asks.

"My parents have a bunch of friends crashing and it's too loud," Kenny says, wrinkling his nose.

"Poor people live in clusters," Cartman adds sagely, as if he's stating something important.

Kenny frowns at him. "Yeah, it's so fucking fun," he mutters cynically. "I love finding smelly old dudes climbing into my bed at 3AM trying to fuck me in my sleep."

"WHAT?" Cartman roars.

"Just kidding!" Kenny laughs.

Cartman slaps him upside the head. "Dipshit… are you really kidding?"

"Okay, it happened like once," Kenny admits, "but I screamed so damn loud. Kevin came in and saved the day."

"Jesus Christ," Kyle mutters.

"Gross," Stan adds, while Kenny simply shrugs.

"So," Cartman starts, "Where are you headed, Jew-boy?"

"I agreed to meet someone," he says.

"Who?" Stan asks.

"Rebecca," he mutters the name with a frown on his lips.

"Why are you talking to her again all of the sudden?" Kenny grimaces. "She's awful."

"Yeah," Stan adds. "Plus, she cheated on you and you were a wreck. Why do you want to go back?"

"To tie up loose ends?" Kyle shrugs. "I think I need closure. I just want to be on good terms with her… She's the one who approached me, so I accepted her offer."

"Who the fuck cares?" Kenny snorts, rolling his eyes. "You can't be loved by everyone, Kyle."

"Don't worry about it, guys," he promises. "I'll be fine… Anyway, I'm going to Tweek Bros to meet her, so I'll see you in a little while, Kenny. Okay?"

"Bye," he says while Stan and Cartman wave him off.

Kenny has a very bad feeling, but he knows that nothing he says will sway the redhead.

* * *

Kyle shoves his hands in his pocket, a feeling of unsettlement taking him over. 'Is this really a good idea?' he asks himself. 'Probably not.' Nonetheless, he still makes his way to the coffee shop. Inside, he spots Tweek, who looks incredibly miserable. When Kyle approaches the cash register, he gives the shaky blond a sympathetic smile and says, "I'm sorry."

"S'okay," Tweek says weakly. "You tried to stop them, right? You and Kenny… but they didn't listen."

"If I knew this was going to happen, I would've tried harder," Kyle promises. "Either way, I guess I'm shitty for not doing it."

"That's okay," Tweek says again, shrugging. "What –nng–! What can I get you?"

"Erm," Kyle muses thoughtfully, staring at the menu above Tweek's head. "How about a small apple cinnamon?"

Tweek nods and turns around to make Kyle's cup of tea. As he does so, Kyle sees Rebecca walk into the café. She looks the same as always – dressed impeccably with her brown hair falling down her back. She is smiling at him, as if she has an exciting secret. The look of hers makes Kyle nervous. He pays for his tea, thanking Tweek once his cup is ready. Rebecca stands in the center of the café expectantly, hand on hip, waiting for him to approach her.

"So…?" Kyle asks once they're standing in front of one another.

"Let's go for a walk," she says. "I'm not in the mood for coffee and tea."

"Er, okay," he says. Together they leave and begin down the street. For a while, they're silent and Kyle is growing antsy but he doesn't want to be the first to speak. She is the one who called him here, after all. She must have a reason for it.

"I wanted to talk with you about something," she starts.

"Are you going to apologize for taking advantage of me in my drunken state?" Kyle asks lightly, though he's genuinely curious.

"No," she says. "You enjoyed it, trust me."

"Oh, my God," he laughs in disbelief. "I was drunk. I was _really_ drunk. I'm pretty sure in _that_ state I would have enjoyed being anally fisted by Cartman, for fuck's sake."

"Ew," she sneers. "TMI."

Kyle shakes his head at her, looking down at his cup of tea.

"I want us to get back together," she suddenly requests.

Kyle stops and stares at her. She stops and does the same. "You're kidding, right?" Kyle asks, taken aback.

"No," she says. "I miss you."

"You cheated on me," Kyle deadpans. "You ruined our relationship. It's your damn fault, Rebecca."

She closes her eyes. "Stop calling me that!" she yells, eliciting stares from by-passers.

"It's your name."

"You used to call me Becca…"

"We're not friends," Kyle points out in a flat tone. "So, I'm not calling you by a nickname. All right?"

"You're mine!" she shouts possessively. "You were my first and I was yours! That means something! It has to!"

"No," Kyle says, taking a page out of Kenny's book. "Sex doesn't have to mean a damn thing, Rebecca. I get that now. At the time, yeah, maybe it did mean something… but it doesn't anymore because it's over and it's always going to be over."

She lets out an angry sob. "But I love you…"

"No, you fucking don't," Kyle says. "If you did, you wouldn't've cheated on me. I was distraught for far too long, but I'm over it now and I'm not going to let you drag me back down."

"I didn't mean to…" she insists.

"Yeah," Kyle murmurs, not swayed by her attempt. "Yeah, you did."

Suddenly she takes out her phone.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asks wearily.

"Look…" she bites, shoving her phone in Kyle's face.

He looks down at the screen and nearly chokes on his own spit. There is a photo of him. An_ intimate_ photo. "When did you take this?" he whispers, trying to snatch the phone but she locks the screen before he can get hold of it.

"That night you were drunk," she explains, pocketing her phone. "You don't remember, do you? You were so damn adorable I just couldn't resist."

"That's illegal, you know…"

"So?"

"My dad is a lawyer."

She scoffs. "Like you'd tell him. I _know_ you, Kyle. Better than you know yourself."

Kyle bites the inside of his mouth.

She starts chuckling. "Your face is so red right now!"

"What do you want from me?"

"Be my boyfriend," she says. "Fuck me and remember how much you love me."

Kyle scoffs in disbelief. "It doesn't work like that."

"Then… this is going on the internet," she says. "Everyone will see you looking like this. Old men will probably jack off to you."

Kyle feels his heartbeat quicken and he feels a panic attack coming on, but he takes a calm breath – desperate not to show his weak side until he's alone. "I'll tell my dad."

"Boohoo," she teases. "I'm Kyle and I can't handle my own fucking shit so I tell my mommy and daddy!"

"I'm sixteen! This is illegal!" he reiterates loudly.

"I. Don't. Care."

Kyle presses the back of his hand to his mouth, feeling trapped. Rebecca smiles and touching his cheek. "Aw," she coos. "Come on, baby. Don't look so down."

"This is blackmail…" he whispers.

"You love me!" she insists. "You've just forgotten."

"No, I don't," he says, letting his hand fall to his side. He grits his teeth and tries to prevent from lurching forward and smacking her. He's not that kind of guy and he doesn't want to make a scene. "Give me your fucking phone."

"No," she says.

"Do it!" he snaps.

"No!"

Kyle lets out a bitter laugh. "Fine," he says simply. "Go ahead and put them on the internet. I don't care. Anything is better than being with you." He gives her a less than genuine smile before turning around and walking home.

* * *

By the time he reaches his house, he feels sick to his stomach. He throws up on a snowbank at the end of his driveway and lets out a miserable whine, but refuses to start crying over it. "Fuck," he whispers to himself. He spits on the ground and walks inside. He takes deep breaths, kicking his boots off and hanging up his coat. He wanders into the kitchen, feeling nauseous as he grabs a glass of water.

"What's up with you?" Ike asks from the kitchen table. "You look all… woozy."

"Nothing," Kyle says weakly.

"Liar," Ike mutters with a sigh, "but whatever, I won't pry." He looks down at the textbook sitting on the table in front of him and minds his own business.

Kyle leaves the room and sits on the sofa, bringing his knees up and hugging them to his chest. Kenny will be arriving any moment. He'll tell Kenny what happened. It's easy to talk to the blond about this kind of thing. It's difficult to shock Kenny because he's seen so much perverse shit throughout the years.

Soon enough, the doorbell rings expectantly and Kyle jumps up, opening the door and welcoming Kenny with relief.

"What's with you?" he asks, stepping inside and shedding his boots and parka. "You look kinda… dead."

"Something bad happened," Kyle whispers.

"With Rebecca?" the blond asks, nodding to himself. "No fucking shit."

"How did you know?"

"Because I'm not an idiot," Kenny explains simply. "Let's go upstairs and you can tell me all about it."

Kyle nods airily and the two of them go to his bedroom. He locks the door and they settle on the mattress. "She's trying to blackmail me," Kyle says quietly.

"Yeah?" Kenny asks. "What does she have on you? Dick pics? Dirty secrets?"

"Worse," Kyle chokes out.

"What's worse than dick pics?" Kenny laughs.

"A picture that isn't just of my dick… it's of _everything_!"

"Define _everything_," the blond requests.

"My face is in the picture…" The redhead closes his eyes and sighs. "I'm lying on my back, dick out and jizz everywhere while looking completely stunned. I was drunk. I don't even remember her taking a photo…"

"Well, damn," Kenny mutters. "That _is_ pretty bad."

"Oh, God," Kyle moans in disbelief. "What if she posts them on the internet? Oh, fuck! She's gonna do it…! She even said she was going to do it! Fuck me! Why did I have to get that drunk?"

"Calm down," Kenny says as the redhead begins to hyperventilate. "Most of the people who threaten to do shit like this are just talking big. I doubt she'd do something like that and even if she did you can get her in trouble. Your dad is a lawyer and you're sixteen. That'd be like… kiddie porn."

"Eugh," Kyle groans, holding his head in his hands. "I can't fucking tell my parents about this kind of shit, you don't get it. They'd kill me! Oh, fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck…!"

"Calm down!" Kenny exclaims, grabbing the taller teenager by the shoulders and staring up at him.

"Jesus Christ," he whispers. "I wanna fucking cry."

"Then, by all means, go ahead," Kenny says, letting go of him. "Let it out and when you're feeling calmer, try to think about what you want to do."

"I need to tell my parents," he whispers, "but fuck… I don't want to."

"It's okay," Kenny says. "I'll come down with you. They wouldn't yell at you with me around, would they?"

"Probably not," Kyle admits.

"When will they be home?"

"I don't know…"

"Okay," Kenny shrugs. "It's fine, Kyle. It'll literally be fine. Just relax. We'll have it all sorted and Rebecca won't have any leverage."

"She wanted me back…" Kyle murmurs.

"Of course she did," Kenny says. "I told you she'd realize what she was missing eventually."

"I fucking hate her," the redhead chokes.

"That makes two of us."

Kyle closes his eyes. "Is this what I get?" he asks.

Kenny tilts his head to the side. "What for?"

"For not doing anything when Cartman and Stan decided to fuck with Craig...?"

Kenny lets out a long sigh. "No, Kyle. Stop blaming yourself for things that aren't your fault."

But it's one of Kyle's greatest flaws.

* * *

When Sheila and Gerald get home, Kenny forces Kyle to face the music. When the two boys make their way downstairs, Sheila immediately realizes something must be wrong.

"What is it, bubby?" she asks.

"Did something happen, Kyle?" Gerald pries.

Kyle nods and takes a breath. "I did something stupid," he starts.

Sheila frowns at this while Gerald rubs his temples and pointedly asks, "_How_ stupid?"

Kyle sits on the loveseat with Kenny while his parents sit on the three-seater sofa. He takes another deep breath and shakily says, "I got drunk a while ago… and someone took some bad pictures of me."

"Oh, _gawd_!" Sheila cries loudly.

"Define _bad_, Kyle," Gerald says in a business-like tone.

"Naked," Kyle squeaks, starting to tear up.

"Oh, _GAWD_!" Sheila exclaims again, burying her face in her hands.

"Was it a man?" Gerald asks giving his son a serious look.

"No, a girl," Kyle whispers, glassy eyed. "It was Rebecca Cotswolds…"

"I never liked that girl!" Sheila snaps, throwing her arms up in the air. "I knew she was trouble from the _moment_ you introduced us to her."

"I don't know what to do," Kyle admits weakly, starting to cry.

"Don't cry, Kyle. I'm going to fix it," Gerald promises gently.

Kyle bends over and buries his face in his hands, letting out quiet, breathy sobs. The fact that his parents are being so easy on him makes him feel a comforting amount of relief and overwhelming guilt. Kenny puts a hand on Kyle's back and rubs soothing circles. He can't help but think how strange and sad it is to see the redhead break down. He isn't a crier like Kenny and Stan are. He tries to push his problems to the side. He tries not to let the guilt eat him alive, but he has so much of it.

Sheila looks like she's at a loss. "We'll call that girls parents and fix this right away," she says to her son.

Kyle raises his head, still covering his mouth. "There's something else," he whispers into his hands, voice coming out muffled.

"What else, Kyle?" Sheila asks.

He sniffs, blinking as the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes slip out. "I don't want to date a Jewish girl," he confesses, trying to kill two birds with one stone.

Sheila lets out a sigh, but nods nonetheless. "We'll pass that bridge when it comes, Kyle. Don't think about it now."

"Fine," he whispers. For now, he'll take it. He won't put his parents under any more stress.

Gerald stands up and says, "I'll go down to my office and have a chat with Rebecca's father."

Kyle nods meekly, watching his dad leave the room.

Sheila gives her son a piteous look, approaching him where he's seated. She touches his cheek and says, "Daddy will fix it, okay?"

"Okay…"

She bends down and kisses the top of his curly head before adding, "I'm going to make supper. Kenneth, will you be joining us?"

"Yeah," the blond says with a polite smile.

Sheila nods and retreats to the kitchen.

"Fuck," Kyle moans, rubbing his eyes.

"I haven't seen you cry in years," Kenny points out. "You must've been really stressed out over this."

"I still am," Kyle admits. "I won't be relieved until I know the photo is gone… and I don't want anyone else to fucking see it. It's so embarrassing and ugly…"

"I bet you look fine," Kenny says.

"Hardly," Kyle grits.

"But I get it," Kenny shrugs. "Either way, it's an invasion of privacy, right? You don't want strangers to see you like that. It's understandable."

"I'm so disgusted with myself I could die…" Kyle whispers. For Kyle, who is modest in nature, this is the worst punishment. It's also one he can't help but wonder if he deserves.

"I've done ten times worse and I'm not disgusted with myself so you shouldn't be disgusted with yourself either," Kenny promises. "You're always worth more than the way people treat you."

"Yeah?"

Kenny nods. "Bebe taught me that."

"Well, she's pretty wise."

"She sure is!" Kenny agrees. "The other day she said these exact words: '_Don't demean yourself. You're worth more than the way people treat you.' _And I guess the words made an impression because they stuck to the front of my mind easily. She really knows how to make a guy feel special."

"She's right, you know," Kyle smiles.

"Yeah?" he wonders. The redhead nods and Kenny can't help but grin. "Come on, let's go back up to your room," he stands. "We can talk about boys," he adds jokingly.

Kyle laughs and shakes his head, but follows nonetheless. "What's the grossest thing you've been told?" Kyle decides to ask. "I mean like… dirty talk gone wrong."

Kenny snickers. "I have a few good ones. One guy told me to _choke_ on his _meat_. Another guy asked me if I liked the taste of his _baby gravy_. Christ, I don't want to hear shit like that. It makes me gag and that's saying something because I've deep throated some pretty big dicks without gagging but a few wrong words and I'm ready to puke."

"Baby gravy," Kyle repeats with a grimace.

"Cock snot is another nasty one," Kenny wrinkles his nose.

"Christ," Kyle mutters with a look of disgust. "People actually say that kind of shit?"

"Yup," the blond says.

"That's… not at all classy," Kyle laughs.

"Well, I'm not really that classy," Kenny admits. "So, maybe, in a way, it fits."

"No way," Kyle insists. "Remember Kenny – you're worth more than that. Right?"

"Right," the blond laughs. "Yeah. Shit… the words are fresh in my mind, I just wished I believed it."

"Yeah," Kyle says softly, flopping into his bed. "It's hard, isn't it?"

"Mhm," Kenny agrees, climbing next to the redhead and lying against him. "Speaking of dicks... Did you fuck Stan yet?"

"What?" Kyle nearly gasps. "How'd you know about _that_?"

"So, you did…" Kenny muses, resting his cheek on Kyle's shoulder. "I was just wondering… At first I wasn't sure whether or not it was love, but it is. He loves you and you love him, but you're not sure what kind of love it is. Either way, you're willing to give him everything in the world, right? That's why you slept with him. You enjoyed it, too, didn't you? Try to think about what that might mean, Kyle. He's your best friend. He's the most important person in your life. He's your soul-mate and all that stuff. So, really, how is all of that a step down from romance?"

"Are you honestly trying to convince me to try dating him?" Kyle asks.

"I'm trying to right a wrong," the blond explains vaguely. He finds it immensely difficult, but he knows he can't continue acting the way he has been.

"What's that?"

"I knew Stan wanted to be with you," Kenny admits with a sigh. "I knew, but I still went after you because I'm selfish. I'm like a child. I'm capable of feeling empathy but I don't put it to use because I want so much."

"It's okay," Kyle whispers. "You've spent your life being abused, neglected… It's not really your fault. You've always been looking for attention because you never got any from your parents. Would you believe us if we told you we weren't going anywhere? You don't need to have all three of us in that way, because in another way, you already do have us. We're friends, Kenny. Forever."

"I know," Kenny says sadly. "I'm trying to be better. I think, of all the mistakes I've made, this one finally made an impression. I hurt someone I care about... so I'm trying to be better."

"You are already doing it," Kyle promises.

"So?" Kenny asks expectantly.

"I'll think about it," Kyle says. "I think he'd grow tired of me, though. We would have to keep it a secret."

"Why?"

"My parents… they'd freak out," Kyle murmurs with a sigh.

"It's your life, not theirs," the blond says simply. "Stan would be so fucking happy. He'd be over the moon. I think you would, too. It seems easy, doesn't it? Your happiness or your parents' approval. You might not get both, but which is more important? What's the worst that could happen, Kyle? They would never kick you out. No matter what happens, you're their son and they love you."

"And what about you?" Kyle asks. "How would you feel?"

"Forlorn," Kenny says honestly. "But I already ruined things, so no matter what it won't be the same as it was before. I wrecked it by sleeping with you."

"It's not wrecked, Kenny…"

"It is," the blond insists. "Stan was so upset. He didn't just hear about it. He saw us, you know… and I saw the look on his face."

"He saw us?" Kyle sighs at that. He had no idea.

Kenny nods against Kyle's shoulder. "You were drunk and in the zone, so you didn't notice… but I noticed and I knew right away I fucked up. Hell, I knew I fucked up before any of it happened but that didn't stop me from going through with it."

"Don't worry about it, Kenny."

"How can I not?" the blond whispers. "I'm a shitty person."

"No, you're not," Kyle swears. "You're just a bit… young-hearted."

Kenny scoffs lightly. "I'm a child."

"Yeah… but so what? I'm a child, too. We're sixteen. We're bound to fuck up plenty of times. It'll probably keep happening for the next few years so we better get used to it."

Kenny laughs bitterly at that, knowing Kyle is probably right.


	13. What goes around

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

* * *

On Sunday Gerald takes Kyle to Tweek Bros to meet with Mr. Cotswolds and Rebecca. Rebecca begrudgingly hands the phone to Kyle, who is free to glance through her files and make sure the photo is gone. Kyle doesn't say a word the entire time, but Mr. Cotswolds apologizes over and over again for his daughter's inappropriate and borderline assaulting behaviour. Before parting ways, Gerald sternly informs the angry teenaged girl that if she made backups of the photo he'll be forced to take legal action. She gives a meek nod and says she understands. On the car ride home, Gerald turns to Kyle and says, "How do you feel?"

"Stupid," Kyle murmurs honestly, slumping in his seat. "Like some dumb whore."

Gerald sighs. "You need to be careful, son. This world is full of people who will use and abuse you."

"I get that now," Kyle whispers.

"What she did…" Gerald trails off and shakes his head, not liking the idea of his son having to face such humiliation at the hands of an immature ex.

"I know…" is all Kyle says. "Can I stay home tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Gerald nods, "but only tomorrow, all right? You can have a day to relax, but don't slack off with your schoolwork."

"I won't," the redhead promises, staring out the window and watching the farmland pass.

* * *

Come Monday, Kyle skips school in a sad attempt to avoid Rebecca, who will likely have a mouthful of angry words ready for him to hear. He spends the day doing absolutely nothing at all for the first time in a long time and it feels satisfying in one way but pathetic in another. Nonetheless, he sleeps in until 2PM and doesn't allow himself to feel guilty about it. He wakes up feeling refreshed and he puts of showering until 4PM. Around 5PM, Stan comes over. When Kyle greets him at the door he's smiling sympathetically.

"Kenny told you," Kyle says right away, reading Stan's expression before allowing the brunet in.

"Yeah," Stan confirms. "I pried. I'm really sorry… If I knew what she did that night I would've physically taken her phone from her and stole the memory card."

"It's all done now," Kyle says with a sigh. "I'm just glad my dad didn't have to see the photo."

"Yeah… that would've been hard to recover from."

They go upstairs and into Kyle's room. Stan flops onto the bed while Kyle sits at his desk and spins around in the chair. "So, anything interesting happen at school today?"

"Not a damn thing," Stan says. "Craig is pretty moody. I'm kind of worried he'll try to kill me or something."

"He wouldn't do that," Kyle laughs.

"He's not all there in the head," Stan shrugs, "so… he might."

"It'd be your own damn fault," Kyle reasons. "You played with him in a pretty mean way."

Stan groans. "I should've listened to you and Kenny instead of Cartman…"

"Yeah," Kyle agrees, "but you never listen to us."

"I'm dumb," Stan says.

"That's okay," the redhead laughs, not bothering to deny it. "Let's all just… try to be better people."

"Yeah," Stan agrees. "We'll probably get into a lot less trouble if we stop acting like little shits."

"Probably," Kyle nods. It's a lesson they've learned countless times, yet forget quickly.

"So, what do you think Craig is going to do to us… or more specifically me and Cartman?"

Kyle lets out a sigh. "I don't know, dude. Hopefully nothing serious because that could get dangerous."

Stan frowns. "I'm worried… I feel like I'm just waiting for something bad to happen."

"No shit," Kyle says. "You really shouldn't've messed with him."

"I know!" Stan shouts, throwing his hands up. "It was stupid of me, blah blah blah, I'm an idiot. We've already been over this."

Kyle raises his hands innocently, backing off. It's been like this between them. Kyle doesn't know if it's the conversations they've been having or if it's the sex. Either way, they'll need to talk about it soon enough.

"Have you renewed your prescription yet?" Stan asks after a brief silence.

"No," Kyle says.

"Shouldn't you?" Stan urges.

"Is that your business?" Kyle retorts.

Stan stares at Kyle, somewhat crestfallen. "Anyway," he murmurs. "I just wanted to see if you were okay… and you are… so I'm going home."

"Want me to walk you to the door?" the redhead offers.

"No, don't bother."

* * *

Across town, Jason kicks the crap out of Kenny. The following morning, Kenny takes the day off and sits in his room, afraid to go outside so soon. When he finally does ventures beyond the walls of his house, he's greeted with a potential repeat of last night's events.

Jason smiles smugly at him. "Hey, fag," he greets.

Kenny starts running his mouth before he can help it and he's in trouble yet again. Fast on his feet after a few hits, he loses Jason and makes his way down the main road. He arrives at Stan's house bloody and crying. Stan stares wide-eyed and unsure of what to do. "Come in…!" he nearly chokes on the words, ushering the blond inside. "What the fuck happened?"

"Got hit," Kenny says vaguely, wiping his nose as he slips out of his boots.

Sharon appears from the kitchen looking shocked and sympathetic. "Kenneth… are you all right?"

Kenny hurries to dry his eyes. "Ahaah…" he forces a laugh. "I'm totally fine, I'm just overreacting."

She frowns, not believing the blatant lie but she doesn't pry since it's not her business. "Take him upstairs and help him clean off," she says to her son, who simply nods in response.

Kenny follows him upstairs and into the bathroom, where the brunet gets out the first aid kit. "You got hit…" Stan mutters with a scoff. "No shit, Ken. What else happened? Who did it and _why_? Why would someone want to hurt _you_ of all people? Everyone fucking loves you."

"Not everyone… Jason definitely doesn't love me," Kenny murmurs, sitting on the toilet seat while Stan hovers in front of him with rubbing alcohol.

"Tsk," Stan clicks his tongue. "That asshole!"

"My fault," Kenny admits. "I'm the one who started it."

"Why the hell do you do shit like this?" Stan murmurs the question.

"Because I'm nothing if I don't!" Kenny shouts.

"Don't' say shit like that…" the brunet tries to reason. "Every life means something."

"No," Kenny mutters distastefully. "I'm not smart like Kyle and I have no goals. I'm not going to do anything that's going to make a difference in the world. Out of bed, I have no talents. I have no determination. I'm so unmotivated it's hard to get out of bed most mornings. I put on this happy, careless face and nobody fucking notices that everything I say is a big fucking lie!" With each word, his voice grows louder and shakier.

Stan lets out a soft sigh. "You need to settle down with someone who will treat you right."

Kenny scoffs. "Where will I find someone with the patience of a saint?"

"C'mon," Stan reasons, "you're not _that_ high maintenance."

"But you admit I'm high maintenance," Kenny notes.

"You are," the brunet admits, starting to clean the cuts on Kenny's face. "To deny it would be a lie… but it's okay. So am I. We all have flaws and things we need to work on."

Kenny cringes. "Stings…"

"I'm sorry," Stan murmurs, "but they need to be cleaned…"

"Thanks, Stan…" A pause. "Maybe this is what we get..." he murmurs. "Think about it... Kyle got fucked, I got fucked and you got fucked. The only one who didn't get fucked was Eric, but maybe his turn is next."

Stan frowns. "What are you on about?"

Kenny sighs impatiently. "This is what we get for messing with Craig! Kyle said it, too. I brushed him off, but maybe he's right."

Stan wrinkles his nose. "Kyle's punishment was Rebecca. Yours was Jason... What was mine, then?"

Kenny smiles bitterly. "Me and Kyle."

Stan frowns. "I don't really know if I can believe that," he says before changing the subject. "Are you going home tonight?"

"No," Kenny says. "I'm going to Eric's after… I just didn't want him to see me like this. He would get mad – not at me, just mad in general."

"He cares a lot about you, y'know," Stan says. "He tries not to show it, but we all know he cares."

"I know," Kenny smiles faintly. "Hey… Kyle might ask you out."

Stan snorts at that. "No, he won't. He's not into me like that. Plus, he's all freaky about how his parents are going to react if they found out he likes boy ass."

"You're his best friend," Kenny says.

"Yeah and I don't want him to feel like he needs to try dating me just so he won't lose me or anything… he won't lose me. He'll never lose me."

"I wish I could be that confident in my friendships," Kenny sighs.

Stan smiles faintly before deciding to ask the hard questions. "So, what exactly happened with Jason?"

"He saw me and decided to call me out," Kenny mutters. "I ran my mouth, he chased me around town and eventually caught me. I kneed him in the groin so he got pretty pissed off and beat the crap out of me… It was kind of scary. Usually I just laugh my way through his punches, but this time I couldn't… I thought he was going to fucking kill me. No one was around to stop him from going too far."

"What the fuck?" Stan deadpans. "It doesn't sound like you started it at all!"

"I ran my mouth," Kenny reiterates.

"So fucking what? You do that a lot and it hasn't gotten you into this kind of trouble. Besides, insults don't warrant violence."

"Jason has anger problems," the blond adds quietly.

"No shit," Stan shakes his head, putting a band aid over the scratches on Kenny's face. "Christ, was Jason wearing a ring or something?"

"I think," Kenny says. "I wish I was taller and stronger… Like Kyle. Then I'd beat Jason up… give 'im what 'e deserves. I bet it'd be pretty exhilarating."

Stan smiles somewhat piteously at the blond, ruffling his hair. "Come on," he says after putting away the first aid kit. "I'll take Dad's car and drive you to Eric's."

* * *

After Stan drops him off, Kenny rings Cartman's doorbell. Liane lets him in and smiles softly. "Dear, what happened?"

"Ran into a little trouble earlier," Kenny laughs good-naturedly.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, thanks," he grins.

She simply nods, not questioning him any further. She knows it's not her place. "Eric is in his bedroom."

He thanks her before slipping off his boots and running upstairs. He swings open Cartman's door and announces his presence. "Hi! Your mom let me in."

Cartman is lying on is bed playing Nintendo DS. When he hears Kenny's voice, he turns the game off and sits up before turning to look at the blond. "What the fucking hell happened to you?" he immediately demands, outraged upon taking in the blond's messy appearance.

Kenny forces a weary smile. "I don't really want to talk about it. Stan cleaned my cuts. It's okay."

"Is it?"

"Yeah, I promise."

Cartman doesn't believe him. His eyes narrow and he reaches forward, grabbing Kenny's face and examining the damage. "Christ, you're _fucked up_…" he says in disbelief. "Who did this?" He unzips the blond's parka, taking it off and lifting the thin t-shirt up to reveal his bruised stomach.

"Stop…" Kenny murmurs weakly, but Cartman doesn't hear. He continues to inspect the damage – poking and prodding. "Stop!" Kenny repeats, raising his shaky voice. "Please…"

Cartman does so, raising an eyebrow at the blond. "So…?" he asks expectantly.

"So, what?"

"Talk," he demands.

"Jason…" Kenny murmurs the name. "He beat me up last night and this morning he did it again!"

"WHAT?" Cartman roars, visibly angered.

"Stop…" Kenny pleads, covering his ears. "You know I hate when people scream!"

"You scream all the fucking time, blondie," Cartman notes.

"I don't like being screamed _at_!" Kenny shouts, glassy eyed.

Cartman rolls his eyes. "Are you gonna fucking start crying?"

Kenny clicks his tongue. "Asshole," his voice breaks, "you're not supposed to ask that question when you see a person tearing up. It only makes them want to cry harder."

"Then do it," Cartman says. "Cry."

"You hate criers," Kenny whispers.

"It's fine," the chubby teenager insists with a sigh. "I'm telling you that you can cry."

Kenny closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a shuddery breath. When he opens them, he climbs into Cartman's bed and gets under the covers. Cartman gets in beside him and for a minute, they're both silent. Kenny starts crying a moment later and Cartman inches closer to him.

"I hate people," Kenny sobs, burying his face into Cartman's shoulder. "They're so mean…!"

"Yeah," Cartman agrees, patting him awkwardly. "People are shit and everyone wonders why I'm such a dick…" he scoffs. "It's because I _understand_ people."

"So do I," Kenny says, muffling the words into the other teen's shirt.

"But you're too soft," Cartman mutters.

"Want me to toughen up?"

"Nah," Cartman admits, pulling the blond closer. "I like you just the way you are."

"So you can boss me around?"

"Maybe," Cartman says lightly before relenting, "Nah, I'm kidding around. The only reason I'm a dick to you is so you'll grow a backbone."

"Gee, thanks…"

"So, how do you feel?"

"Hm…" Kenny muses, lifting his head and staring at Cartman. "You know, I think that's the first time you've asked me that."

"Whatever," Cartman snorts, staring at his teary-eyed expression. He's a sadist, sure, but it's hard to find pleasure in seeing Kenny genuinely upset. "Answer the question."

"Safe," Kenny tells him.

"Safe?" the chubby teenager questions.

"Yeah, safe," Kenny says.

"I make you feel that way?" Cartman asks.

"Yeah," the blond smiles.

"Why?"

"You're strong," Kenny starts. "In your own way, you stick up for me."

"I don't –" he starts, but the blond cuts him off.

"Shut up," he laughs, "I know all, remember? So, don't bother trying to deny it in an attempt to look like the tough guy. I know you love me… Just like I know Stan and Kyle love me. But they also love each other. There's no room for me in there with them, huh?"

"No," Cartman says. "And why would you want to be there anyway? I doubt you want to get in the middle of that. It'd be like a Kosher and vegan sandwich. Gross."

"Stan was a vegetarian," Kenny corrects. "Emphasis on the _was_. He eats meat again now."

"Whatever," Cartman snorts. "Same gay shit to me… whiny and pretentious…"

"Of course," Kenny rolls his eyes.

"So, what about you, then?"

"Hm?"

"What do you want?" Cartman asks.

"What do I want…? What a question. I want lots of things. I want to wake up and feel alive in the strongest and most powerful sense of the word," he says. "I don't want to simply exist and roll with the punches. I want to enjoy my time here, however long it lasts because I don't know when I'll stop coming back."

"Don't talk about shit like that," Cartman mutters, knocking him on the head. "Christ."

"I want to feel good things," Kenny continues, "not just bad things."

"Since when?"

"Since now," the blond says simply. Of course, there are reasons for this. Perhaps he's learned from the mistakes he's made. Nonetheless, he doesn't explain and similarly he knows the other teenager won't pry.

"Then… we'll work on it," Cartman says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Together?"

"Together."

* * *

"You know what you should do?" Cartman asks Kenny the following week.

"What?" Kenny questions the chunky brunet. The two boys are sitting on Cartman's bed – just sitting. And talking, but nothing more than that.

"Make a list of everyone who has hurt you," he starts. "Give the list to me and I'll kill them all for you since we all know you're too soft for it."

Kenny rolls his eyes. "Nice sentiment. I appreciate it… but wouldn't that just make me an accomplice? I don't want anything to do with killing people."

"But they're the ones killing _you_!" Cartman exclaims.

Kenny shrugs in response. "As you say, I'm too soft."

Cartman lets out a frustrated sigh, but he relents nonetheless. Truth be told, he didn't exactly expect the blond to go ahead and let him go on a homicidal killing spree.

"I need you," Kenny whispers suddenly. "You're the only person who understands me."

"I know," is all Cartman responds with.

"Pathetic, isn't it?" Kenny murmurs.

"What?" the chubby teenager asks.

"Me," the blond snorts. "I'm pathetic. Really fucking pathetic."

"Most of us are," Cartman offers, not bothering to deny it. He's not one for reassurance.

* * *

After classes, Tweek follows Craig home, much to the brunet's dismay and anger. Now they're arguing in the middle of the street.

"I love you," Tweek suddenly whispers and his voice breaks. He's pulling out the big guns now. Speaking of guns, Craig could pull out one of his own… but he doesn't. He keeps hesitating.

"No," he says coldly, not fazed by the confession. "Love is mutual and I don't love you, so what you feel doesn't matter." Tweek starts crying and Craig lets out a sound of irritation. "Tsk, don't fucking do that… crybabies piss me off."

"I d-didn't want t-to do it!" the blond sobs.

"Do what?" Craig asks wearily, trying to refrain from simply walking away. He ghosts his fingers across the gun in his pocket, debating whether or not to pull it out and point it. No… Not yet. Not here. Not like this.

"What Cartman made me do!"

"Then why the fuck did you do it if you didn't _want_ to?" Craig snaps.

Tweek takes a deep and calm breath, trying to will the tears away but it hurts too much. "Blackmail," he murmurs.

"Oh, really?" Craig asks, not convinced. He releases a bitter, callous laugh and shakes his head.

"I swear!" Tweek shouts, desperate for the brunet to understand.

Craig crosses his arms, not believing a word of it. "That's a little too convenient, if you ask me. If you _are_ telling the truth, you could have fucking told me what was happening. How the hell would Cartman have known? Christ. Now fuck off, okay?" He continues down the street. Tweek doesn't chase him.

* * *

Lucky for Kyle, Rebecca has been tactfully avoiding him. Stan wants to rub it in her face, but he won't. He knows Kyle would absolutely hate that. After school, the boys walk home. Cartman laughs boisterously at the expense of Kenny, chatting openly about their latest sexual endeavours.

"Oh, he's a pain slut," Cartman cackles before turning to the blond and smirking. "Ain't that right, Freckles?"

"Fun," the blond says, not denying that it's true.

Kyle rolls his eyes at the both of them, but he can't help but notice how many nicknames Cartman has for the smallest one in the group – Freckles, Princess, Kiddo… None of them are malicious. They're more endearing. He's sure Kenny likes it a lot more than he lets on.

"You love it, don't you, princess?" Cartman's smirk widens and he tosses an arm around him, giving him a noogie.

Kenny lets out a long whine until he's released. "Ow…"

"Tsk," Kyle clicks his tongue at them both.

"So, what's the plan?" the blond asks.

"Come over," Kyle requests.

"Just me?"

"Just you."

"Why?" Kenny tilts his head to the side in confusion.

"I want to tell my parents something and it'll be easier if you're there," he explains vaguely.

Stan frowns as he listens to their back and forth, but he doesn't ask any questions. Kyle will tell him when he's ready and whatever it is, he'll accept it.

* * *

When Kyle and Kenny part ways with Stan and Cartman, the questions come. "What will you do?" Kenny asks. "You had him. Now what?"

"I liked it," Kyle murmurs. "I mean… I don't know exactly what it means but I think I know what I want. That's something, right?"

"Of course," Kenny agrees.

Kyle feels anxious and his eyes keep glazing over. Bam. Just like that Kyle is no longer what everyone thought he was. Just like that Kyle is no longer what _he_ thought he was. Will this change things? If so, how?

'God, I'm emotional lately,' he thinks to himself. Alongside Kenny, they walk up his driveway and open the front door. "Ma?" he immediately calls and his voice cracks.

Sheila exits the kitchen and enters the living room, giving her son a questioning look. "What is it, Bubby?"

"Where's Dad?" he asks. He kicks off his shoes and removes his coat. "I want to say something. I _need_ to say it."

Sheila looks confused. "He's in his office…" she says slowly. "Kyle, what's this about?"

"I'll tell you when he's upstairs," he promises.

Sheila lets out a sigh and nears the basement door. "Gerald! Come up here!"

Kyle stands tense and awkward as he waits for his father to join them. Ike is sitting silently on a sofa, but Kyle doesn't mind. Ike never gives him a hard time. Now won't be any different. He's also hoping it might be easier having Ike there, in case his parents get mad. Ike is good at doing damage control.

When Gerald comes upstairs, he asks, "What is it, Sheila?"

"Kyle wants to tell us something," she says wearily, afraid he got himself into another mess.

Kyle wraps his arms around himself, feeling his eyes get glassy yet again. If he blinks even once, they'll begin to leak. He stands wide-eyed until he no longer can. He lets out a breath.

"Kyle…?" Sheila is frowning. "You're worrying us. Tell us what's wrong. We won't be mad. I'm sure it can be fixed."

"That's just the thing," he says, wiping his eyes before wringing his hands together. "This _can't_ be fixed… I don't want it to be fixed, even if it could be."

"Well, what is it?"

"I want to be with someone," Kyle tells them, "but… I want your approval."

"Who is it?" Gerald asks with a frown.

Kenny is frowning as well because he knows exactly where the conversation is headed. Kyle is going to tell his parents about the less than heterosexual things he's been feeling. He knows ahead of time that Kyle isn't going to get the answer he wants. They might not shut him down, but they won't smile and tell him it'll be all right either.

"Stan," Kyle reveals.

Sheila's jaw drops while Gerald stares wide eyed at his son. "You… You're gay? _Stan_ is gay?"

"I don't know what I am," Kyle whispers, not yet wanting to put a label on whatever it is he's feeling.

From the sofa, Ike lets out a little laugh. "I knew this day would come."

After that, it's silent for what feels like a long time to Kyle. Eventually, Sheila lets out a disappointed sigh. "Is this a phase?" she asks.

"No," Kyle says firmly.

She glances at her husband before looking back at her son. "Me and your father need to talk about this," she says.

Kyle simply nods. He watches them both go upstairs. He can hear the faint sounds of their voices, but he can't make out what they're saying. For that, he's almost glad. He's sure it would only make him feel worse about all of this.

He sits down next to Ike and bends over, pushing his face into his hands before letting out a miserable sound. As Kenny rubs Kyle's back, Ike puts a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Sorry," he offers. "It shouldn't be this hard, should it? It's not really fair."

Kyle sniffs and rubs his hands down his face before sitting up. "It's fine. It needed to be said."

"Do you feel any relief?" Ike asks.

"No," Kyle murmurs.

"You will," the young Canadian promises. "Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow or next week or next month even… but someday you'll be glad you said it. Imagine what it must be like to live life suppressing yourself and ignoring who you are? It's not healthy. So, you're right. You needed to say this. You needed to let them know. And even if they don't give you and Stan their blessing, you've got mine. Seriously, bro. Go for it."

Kyle lets out a forced chuckle. "Thanks," he says. "That's actually kind of nice to hear."

Ike smiles at him. "Sure thing, Kyle."

Kenny hugs Kyle from the side. "Ike is right. Everything will get better."

Kyle simply nods, desperately wanting to believe it.

* * *

After school the following day, Kyle decides to try and get the words out again – this time, to Stan. He beats around the bush and when he finally _does_ get the words out, he doesn't get the reaction he expected.

"We're friends, right?" Stan asks, not quite able to believe Kyle wants more than that.

"After all we've been through… you're trynna friend-zone me?" Kyle asks lightly.

Stan smiles somewhat cynically. "There's no such thing as the friend-zone, dork," he says.

"I know, I know," Kyle says. "I was kidding. Guys whining about being friend-zoned are basically admitting they were only being nice for the sake of getting into someone's pants and shifting the blame away from themselves. Right?"

"Right," Stan says with a slow nod before adding, "Wendy taught me that…"

"Same," the redhead admits. "Anyway," he starts again, wanting to change the subject back towards their potential romantic entanglement. "Go out with me. For real this time."

"What about your parents?" he asks, knowing this is the reason for Kyle's hesitance.

"I told them I want to be with you," he admits. "They… They didn't take it all that well, but they said that would talk about it with each other."

"Wow," Stan whispers, surprised Kyle found it in himself to say what he wanted for once. He smiles and says, "I'm glad."

"So…?" Kyle urges.

Stan's smile widens. "Yeah, let's go out."

* * *

Red, Clyde and Craig are all sitting on Craig's bed. Clyde brought the girl over in a hopeful attempt that she might be able to bring a smile out of the stoic teenager. So far, nothing. His eyes move around the room awkwardly avoiding Craig's judgemental and _very_ knowing gaze. He spots a package of jumbo bandages on Craig's nightstand and asks, "What are those for?"

"My stomach," Craig states flatly.

"I thought your stomach was healing?" Clyde asks quietly.

"Not anymore," Craig snorts. "It's all wrecked again."

"Tsk…" Clyde clicks his tongue.

Red frowns in fearful confusion, but remains silent.

"So, how goes the battle to woo Bebe?" Craig asks, just for the sake of changing the subject. He knows that this is a topic Clyde enjoys.

"Not great," he admits.

"Y'know," Craig murmurs, "if you guys did get together, she'd just want to put things in your asshole."

Clyde looks thoughtful for a moment before relenting and admitting, "Fuck it, I'd let her… and I'd probably enjoy it, too."

Craig snorts at that and Red smiles perversely. "Bebe is pretty into that," she adds. "She's not into vanilla sex. In fact, she hates it."

Clyde lets out a forlorn sigh. "I wouldn't mind."

Red chuckles at that. "Think she knows?"

"The entire fucking world knows," Craig answers surely.

"That's not true," Clyde protests. He pulls his phone out to check the time. "But speaking of Bebe, I'm meeting her in a bit, so I should head out."

"Oh, hot date?" Craig taunts.

"Hardly," Clyde says with a sigh. "Just coffee." He sits up, waving to Craig and Red before letting himself out. After that, it's silent.

"Hey," Red murmurs once Clyde is gone. "What was he talking about just now?"

"What?" Craig asks.

"About your stomach…" she mentions slowly. "What happened to it?"

"Don't pretend that you don't know," he says with a weary sigh. "I bet Clyde told you all about it, didn't he? Fuck knows he can't keep a secret worth shit."

"No," she looks taken aback. "He didn't tell me anything… You don't give him as much credit as he deserves, Craig. He wouldn't betray your trust if it was something you didn't want him talking to people about."

Craig scoffs lightly. "I'm just your stereotypical cutter."

"Cutter…" Red repeats slowly.

Craig lifts up the edge of his shirt, revealing an array of bandaged wounds and old scars. He covers himself a brief moment later and Red frowns, but for a long time, she says nothing. "Well…?" Craig urges, hating the silence.

"I never knew," she whispers.

"Well, now you do," he says, lying backwards and letting his head hit a pillow.

She follows his lead, lying down next to him. She shifts closer, putting an arm around him. "It's fine," she says softly. "I still love you all the same."

"Hm," Craig mumbles. "How quaint." He won't say it back. Not now, not ever again.

"You don't need to hide, you know," she adds. "You should have more trust in people. It hurts to keep secrets."

"People always betray my trust," Craig mutters.

"What do you mean?" she pries.

"Turns out I'm a fucking fag," he tells her.

"I thought so," she admits. "I mean… I had a feeling."

He lets out a sigh. "I was seeing someone… but it all got thrown in my face."

"People can be really cruel," she says sympathetically. "Try not to let it jade you."

"Too late," he murmurs. "I hate people now more than ever."

* * *

When Bebe spots Stan and Kyle in the hallway the following morning, she decides to call them out. She approaches them with a look of determination. "I have a bone to pick with you guys," the girl starts. "I've wanted to say this for a while, I just kept stopping myself. I didn't know if it was any of my business… but I don't care. I need to say it."

"What is this about?" Kyle asks, crossing his arms defensively.

"Kenny," she says.

Kyle lets out a long sigh. "I know where this is going."

"He's your friend!" Bebe shouts, voice wavering. "Why aren't any of you trying harder to protect him?"

"From what?" Stan asks stupidly.

"From _men_!" Bebe starts. "From _himself_! He needs you guys! He needs his friends! You can't just abandon him when he gets like this. He needs your support. He needs your patience."

"You don't get it," Kyle murmurs. "He won't _let_ us help. We tried and tried… and nothing happened. Now we don't try anymore. It's better this way. He doesn't get as angry if we let him do what he wants."

She shakes her head, giving the two boys a look of disapproval. "You're being lazy, like you can't be bothered to help him because it takes more work than you're willing to give."

"That's not it!" Kyle snaps at her. "Stop acting like you know everything that goes on with us!"

She lets out a scoff. "Kyle, he _talks_ to me. A lot."

"Then you must know how he feels," Kyle says calmly.

"I don't understand it," she whispers, relenting. "Why does he surround himself with awful people… people like Cartman."

Kyle shrugs lightly. "He loves Cartman… for some fucked up reason."

"He loves all of you," she murmurs.

"And we love him," Kyle finishes the thought. "I know it's wrong… but I'd rather see Kenny with Cartman than with any other guy he's fucked around with. At least Cartman cares about him in return, though he has a fucked up way of showing it. He'd never truly hurt Kenny."

"He's abusive," Bebe grits out.

"Yeah, he's a bad person," Kyle agrees. "Kenny deserves better, but he'll never let himself _have_ better."

"Just don't forget about him," Bebe says pleadingly. "Even when you're gone to university… even if you leave this town… Just don't forget him. We're getting older. I know life gets in the way of old friends, but try to keep him in the front of your mind. Stay in touch with him no matter where you are."

"We won't forget him…" Kyle promises slowly.

"We won't," Stan agrees. "We couldn't."

She simply nods, walking away. Stan and Kyle share a look. They try to shrug it off but they can't help but take what Bebe said to heart.

They're getting older. Soon, their teenage years will be long gone. Then where will they be? Will they still be in South Park, or will they have all moved on? Will they still be friends? It's hard to say. It's hard to promise someone forever.

* * *

When Cartman checks his facebook later on in the night, he is unpleasantly surprised to see a message from Bebe Stevens. He sighs audibly. "What the hell does that bitch want?"

BEBE STEVENS: Can we talk?

ERIC CARTMAN: Depends. About what?

BEBE STEVENS: Be good to Kenny, okay?

ERIC CARTMAN: I treat him just fine, not that it's your business.

BEBE STEVENS: He's my friend. I have his best interests in mind and I want him to be happy.

ERIC CARTMAN: Chill, broad.

BEBE STEVENS: Asshole, be serious for a minute. I know you're hardly capable of caring about people, but at least try!

ERIC CARTMAN: You're thinking about Craig Tucker. He's the one who doesn't care, not me.

BEBE STEVENS: So you admit you care about Kenny?

ERIC CARTMAN: Is that what this is? You want me to admit I care about him? Why? What exactly will that solve?

BEBE STEVENS: Because if you care about him at least a little bit then you'll be able to understand that he's in pain. He's unhappy.

ERIC CARTMAN: Chill. He isn't gonna kill himself.

BEBE STEVENS: But sometimes I think he wants to and that's just as bad.

Cartman rubs his temples, trying not to let his temper rise. Why _should_ he get angry? None of this is his damn fault. He can't control the way Kenny feels or acts. It has nothing to do with him… right? When he doesn't answer, Bebe continues to type.

BEBE STEVENS: As his friend, you need to guide him. You need to help him see he deserves the best.

ERIC CARTMAN: Why is this my responsibility?

BEBE STEVENS: You're his friend! Stop insulting him. Stop treating him like a toy. Stop being a fucking awful, evil person. If you don't, you'll ruin him. How would you feel if he was gone? Whether or not he's dead… there are other ways a person can be gone.

ERIC CARTMAN: He's not made of glass.

BEBE STEVENS: Yes, he is. We all are. Even Craig.

ERIC CARTMAN: Now we have to talk about that freak?

BEBE STEVENS: Kenny told me what happened. You've wronged a lot of people. You need to make amends.

ERIC CARTMAN: Holy hell, shut up. Go suck a dick and get out of my hair.

He shuts his laptop after that and crawls into bed. He tries not to mull over Bebe's words, but they're now stuck in the front of his mind.

* * *

When Bebe sees that Cartman is logged off, she doesn't bother responding to his insult. She sighs, hoping he'll at least take her words to heart. When she's about to turn in for the night, she pauses when another message pops up.

CLYDE DONOVAN: Hey

She smiles to herself.

BEBE STEVENS: Hey, what are you doing up so late?

CLYDE DONOVAN: I've been on the phone with Craig for most of the night.

BEBE STEVENS: Is he okay? Kenny told me what went down.

CLYDE DONOVAN: He's acting like he's okay now but he flipped out a little while ago.

BEBE STEVENS: Hopefully he doesn't hurt himself.

CLYDE DONOVAN: Yeah…

BEBE STEVENS: You're a good friend. I'm sure he's grateful to have you around.

CLYDE DONOVAN: Haha sometimes maybe.

BEBE STEVENS: I'm glad that the fighting stopped.

CLYDE DONOVAN: Me too tbh.

Their conversation continues throughout the night, neither of them noticing as the hours go by.


	14. Better than we were

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

* * *

On Friday, Cartman beats up Jason and Mr. Mackey cancels group therapy for the week – instead, giving Cartman detention all by his lonesome. Mr. Mackey is likely hoping this will give the insane teenager something to reflect on, but those who know Cartman know that the attempt is in vain.

"His own fucking fault for being violent idiot," Kyle says without sympathy as he leaves the school alongside Stan and Kenny.

"Yup," Stan agrees.

Kenny snickers, but says nothing.

"I wonder why he did that…?" Kyle muses aloud. "I mean, they don't get along but they never fought before. Must've been one too many fat jokes."

"Musta been," Kenny says, though he knows the truth. Cartman did it for him. Kenny will thank him later.

"Cartman is such a fat psycho," Kyle continues, gritting his teeth with each word. The hatred for his frenemy is all too clear.

"His favorite movie is _Sal__ò__, or the 120 Days of Sodom_," Kenny says with confirmation and a frown. He can't disagree with what Kyle said – he's fat… and not exactly the sanest guy around. In fact, he's very far from it. Emotional stability is something Cartman has always lacked. It's something he let go of a long time ago and it's something he isn't looking to get back.

"I know," Kyle grimaces. "Stan cried during it, so I took him home. I didn't want to sit through that twisted shit, either."

Horror movie night was something they did frequently in junior high and they all dreaded when it was Cartman's turn to choose the film.

"Sh," Stan says awkwardly. "That was so embarrassing."

"He also likes _Cannibal Holocaust_," the blond adds.

"Those movies shouldn't even be fucking legal," Kyle bites bitterly.

"Yeah," Kenny agrees with a sigh. "I sat through and pretended it didn't bother me, but it did and I felt sick for days. I couldn't stop thinking about all the awful things in that movie…"

"Why would you do that?" Kyle asks. "You shouldn't tolerate that kind of crap. It's just a movie. You should have made him turn it off and then done something productive… or fun at least. I mean, shit…"

"I know," the blond laughs sadly. "I just… wanted to see into his mind, I suppose."

"Well, it doesn't take a genius to understand that the mind of Eric Cartman is a pretty nasty place," the Jew says surely. "He's the worst kind of sadist."

"The movies made me feel really intense," Kenny adds, "even if it wasn't something pleasant… At the time, I thought it was okay."

"Tsk," Kyle clicks his tongue, glancing at Kenny. He raises a hand and puts it atop the blond's messy head. "Don't do shit like that," he murmurs, ruffling his hair.

Kenny smiles sheepishly before parting ways with his friends. Once he's gone, Stan asks, "Did you refill your prescription yet?"

"No," Kyle admits.

"Don't you think you should?"

The redhead sighs before begrudgingly admitting, "Yes…"

"What's stopping you?"

"I've been meaning to do it…" he admits, "I just end up doing other things or hanging out with you and the guys and I don't really want the fat ass to find out I'm on happy pills."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Stan offers sincerely.

Kyle can't help but laugh. "Kids are fucking evil – case and point being what Cartman and you did to Craig."

Stan purses his lips, but says nothing. He doesn't have a comeback for that. Kyle is right – it was really low of him.

"I'll do it now," Kyle says with a sigh. He takes his backpack off and digs his prescription out from inside before zipping it back up. He stares down at the paper with a frown. "Ugh," he whines.

"Come on." Stan gives him a reassuring smile and together they walk to the pharmacy.

* * *

After Cartman's detention, he heads to Kenny's house for some stress relief – whether it be sex or just hanging out. He lets himself in, knowing the blond's parents are usually too stoned to notice when someone is at the door. Upstairs, he finds Kenny sitting on his mattress, hair damp and a towel around his waist as he sits in front of his laptop. "Hi, Eric," he greets, not looking up.

"Hmph," Cartman mutters, shutting the laptop.

"Hey…" Kenny whines. "I was talking to Bebe."

"Too bad," the chubby teenager retorts. He's not a fan of being ignored.

Kenny pouts, but relents with a sigh. "Fine. So, what's up?"

"I just finished detention," Cartman states. "It was fuckin' gay."

Kenny softens. "Thank you… for doing what you did. I mean it. I'm grateful."

"Whatever," Cartman says dismissively. "It had to be done. I knew you weren't gonna do shit to him, so I did… Fuck, though. He deserves way worse than a punch."

"True," Kenny admits, "but you've hurt people, too, you know… You've even killed people. Like your father, for instance. There are plenty of killers in this town."

Cartman makes a face before rolling his eyes. "Details, details…" After a brief silence, he reaches forward and pulls Kenny's slim body towards him, reaching beneath the towel. He slides his hand up the blond's smooth thigh until a hand is placed on his wrist.

"You know… just because I'm exposed, it doesn't mean you're entitled," Kenny says, stopping him.

"Since when?" the brunet laughs. "Who'd you learn that from?"

"Bebe," Kenny admits.

"Fine, then," Cartman relents, holding up his hands innocently.

Kenny stands up a moment later and makes his way to his closet before dropping the towel. He quickly puts on some of Stan's old hand-me-downs. Once modest, he flops back onto his mattress.

"You're hot but you're fucking crazy," Cartman says out of the blue. "There are a lot of flaws beneath that pretty face of yours."

"Cool," the blond murmurs, "an insult and a compliment all wrapped into one. You have talent."

Cartman shakes his head.

"And hey," Kenny adds, "you're just as crazy, only in different ways."

Cartman chuckles at that, unable to disagree. "Then I guess we're perfect." A moment later, he can see the tears begin pooling in the corner of the blond's glassy eyes. "Damn it," he mutters. "What did I do this time?"

Kenny lets out a breath. "Nothing bad," he promises.

Cartman reaches forward and smudges the tears off the blond's face. "You're such a fucking cry-baby."

The blond exhales, lightly slapping his cheeks a few times. "I know, I know."

"How do you feel?"

"All right," he answers. "How do _you_ feel?"

"Hella," Cartman responds.

* * *

On the weekend, the boys go to a party. Drinks? Of course, but this time, Kyle doesn't overdo it. Stan makes sure of that. The redhead makes a weak drink and sips it slowly.

Ambient music plays on the speakers as kids grind their bodies together with one another. Kyle and Stan both skip out on that part. They stand against the wall with their drinks along with Cartman, who watches as Kenny jumps around on the dance floor with Bebe. There's something in his eyes – Kyle notices it. He won't call it love. Is Eric Cartman even capable of loving someone? Kyle doesn't know. For Kenny's sake, he hopes so because no matter who he settles with, the blond deserves to be happy. He deserves someone who will give him a reason to smile big every damn day. He deserves someone who will help him feel the best emotions.

The three boys stare fondly at their friend, all thinking the same thing.

Later in the night, Kenny joins them and steals the cup out of Cartman's hand before taking a sip. "Woah! That's some strong stuff!" he exclaims.

Cartman smiles slightly, taking the cup back. "Not for the faint of heart, freckles."

"I don't even have that many freckles," Kenny murmurs, touching his nose.

Cartman shrugs before lightly offering, "At least you're not a ginger." He eyes Kyle and smirks.

"I'm _not_ a ginger and even if I was, who _cares_?" Kyle snaps.

"Gingers are evil," Cartman insists. "Don't you remember when they tried to take over the world?"

Kyle scoffs. "Ha! Fat ass, half of that's your own damn fault."

Stan lets out a weary sigh and grabs Kyle by the sleeve, dragging him away before a fight ensues. Cartman gives them both a humored look, but doesn't bother getting the last word in. Kenny stares at the chubby teenager, giving him the doe-eyed Bambi look.

"What?" Cartman mutters expectantly.

"I'm sober and I don't want to be sober," Kenny says in a simpering tone. "Make me a drink?"

"Why don't you want to be sober?" Cartman pries.

Kenny frowns. "They haven't said it yet… but Kyle and Stan are together."

The brunet raises an eyebrow at that. "So… Marsh cracked the straight boy?"

"Guess so," Kenny sighs.

"And that upsets you?"

"Guess so," he repeats.

"Well, you ain't gonna drink yourself sick on my watch," Cartman declares. "Especially not over those two fags. Besides, it's only funny when Kyle throws up."

Kenny rolls his eyes. "I have pills in my pocket. I could just pop those right now, but I thought I'd go softer tonight and forego harder drugs."

Cartman grimaces. That's one thing he hates about Kenny – the drugs. Drugs are for hippies, after all, and everyone knows how much he hates hippies. Without hesitance, he reaches forward and digs a hand into the blond's pocket, fetching the little plastic baggy. He raises it to his eyes, staring at the little, round pills with stupid shapes on them. "Ecstasy?" he murmurs.

"Hey…" Kenny whines, holding out his hand. "Give them back."

Cartman ignores him and turns around, exiting the room and exiting the house. Kenny follows him and soon the two of them are outside. Cartman walks to the end of the driveway and dumps the pills out of the bag, stepping on them before tossing the baggy aside. When he turns around, Kenny is staring at him with his jaw open.

"Don't give me your money making mouth," he says somewhat lightly.

"Asshole," Kenny murmurs. "I paid for those."

"With what?" Cartman snorts. Kenny only smiles lewdly in response, causing Cartman to realize that what he paid with wasn't money. "Oh," he mutters tartly.

The two of them return inside, leaving the cold behind. "You care," Kenny accuses offhandedly.

"Don't be a sentimental shit," Cartman says with a scoff.

"You do," Kenny insists. "You care about me. You like me."

"Of all the hos in this damn room, I could take my pick," Cartman says, gesturing to his surroundings. "Look at them all, begging for a dick."

Kenny smiles knowingly. "Abusive asshole, stop trying to overcompensate. Even if that _was_ true, you don't want any of them. I'm the only _ho _you want."

"You're not good for nothin' else," Cartman mutters, but it's a blatant lie.

"Liar," Kenny calls him out. "You like _me_, not just what I give you. Stop trying to convince yourself of otherwise."

Cartman makes a face at him, but doesn't say anything more.

* * *

"You're allowed to drink, right?" Stan asks Kyle. They're seated in the kitchen on barstools with Butters and Kyle is mixing himself another vodka lemonade.

"Yeah," Kyle says. "It's just Zoloft and I did my research. It's not gonna kill me."

Stan nods slowly.

"Zoloft?" Butters pries. "What's that?"

"Candy," Kyle tells him.

They went to the pharmacy to get Kyle's medication earlier and then they went back to the Broflovski house. When Kyle was in the bathroom, Stan looked over the prescription. Before all that's happened, he never even knew Kyle was suffering. He hides things well… and clearly he manages. Either way, Stan is glad Kyle chose to tell him. They're friends, after all. Well, no… Now they're more than that. Stan still isn't used to it.

After a minute, Kenny and Cartman enter the kitchen. "Cartman likes me," the blond announces.

"No, I don't," Cartman says before insisting, "I _tolerate_ you."

And everyone in the room knows that it still means a hell of a lot.

"Nonetheless… you suit one another," Kyle adds. "I mean that."

"I know," Kenny replies with a suggestive wink. "Pain is my kink and he's a sadist. It works."

"Gee whiz!" Butters exclaims, covering his ears.

* * *

In the late hours, Cartman – being the gentleman he is – walks Kenny home. They stroll along the icy sidewalk silently until Kenny breaks into song and rhyme. "There was a crooked man and he walked a crooked mile," he starts, hopping onto the bus stop bench and walking down the length of it as if he were walking a tight rope, "he bought a crooked sixpence upon a crooked stile. He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse and they all lived together in a crooked little…" He trails off, jumping back onto the sidewalk before finishing, "House!"

In the back of Cartman's mind, Bebe's words are still singing at him - telling him to be better. For Kenny, maybe he could be. Cartman stares at him fondly before declaring, "You're the biggest faggot in the world."


	15. Now it's over

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thanks for reviewing, pals :) hopefully this isn't too anticlimactic lol.**

**Also! I'm writing a fic with 88Madison88. It's Crenny, so if anyone is interested in reading it, the link is at the bottom of my profile~ **

* * *

The following week, Craig decides he's going to approach Stan and his friends after school to give them a scare, but when the time finally comes Tweek finds him instead. He groans inwardly and starts to leave, but the blond just follows after him. As they near the main road, he finally speaks. "Wait!" he shouts pleadingly, grabbing the book bag from out of Craig's hand in an attempt to get him to _listen_.

When Craig turns around, he's unable to keep the angry expression of his face. "Give that _back_," he demands coldly. "Now!"

Tweek frowns at the malice in the brunet's tone, but nonetheless isn't swayed in his attempt. "Just listen to me…"

"I don't want to," Craig says flatly, holding his hand out. "Give me my _fucking_ bag back."

Tweek doesn't. Instead, he takes a step away from Craig. "I'll give it back if you just _listen_ to me!" he pleads.

"I don't have _time_ for you right now," Craig snaps, taking a step forward. "Give me my fucking bag, twitchy retard!" He's growing paranoid. If Tweek happens to look in his bag… if he sees what's inside…

"What's _wrong_ with you?" the blond asks tersely. The words sting, but he tries not to let it show. "You're acting ridiculous…!"

"I don't like when people take my shit!" Craig tells him angrily. "So, give it back because I have something I need to do that's a hell of a lot more important than talking to _you_."

"Fuck you!" Tweek shrieks at him, raising his arms and throwing the book bag as far as he can. It soars through the air and over a nearby fence, landing on the snowy grass in a stranger's backyard.

"Are you fucking joking?" Craig deadpans, staring at the blond. He's getting beyond impatient. Tweek huffs loudly and Craig turns away. He jumps the fence with ease and grabs his bag, only to have the house owner come out and start shouting on him.

"No trespassin'!" the hick shouts, wielding a rifle.

"For Christ's sake," Craig growls to himself, jumping back over and booking it down the street. It doesn't take a genius to see that he doesn't want to be followed. So Tweek gives up. With his head hung low and his conscience driving him mad, he walks the other way.

* * *

When he gets home, his parents yet again try prying. This time, he relents and he tells them what's wrong in the vaguest possible way. "I hurt someone I like," he admits shakily, "and I messed everything up."

His parents both nod sagely. This time, his father doesn't respond to him with metaphors. Instead, he says, "These things take time to fix. Don't try to rush it. Perhaps this person just needs more time."

"If you're the one who hurt this person, then it's not about you," his mother adds. "Your feelings need to be put aside for the time being."

Tweek nods, still feeling dejected.

"Was it Craig?" she asks after a moment's silence.

Tweek nods again.

"I thought so," she says softly. "He hasn't been coming around as much."

"I miss him…" Tweek murmurs.

His mother puts an arm around him while his father pats his shoulder. "Everything will fall into place when it's meant to, son. For now, don't rush it."

* * *

The days continue to pass. For a while, things simmer down but everyone knows that it's just the calm before the storm. For Kyle, things are slowly piecing themselves together. Because of it, he feels a little lighter. He hasn't yet displayed his affections for Stan publicly, but he's no longer worried what will happen if he does. The worst part is over. From here on, things can only get better in the love department. His parents have yet to give their blessing, but Kyle understands now that as much as he _wants_ it, he doesn't _need_ it. They'll come around. They always do.

"My place after school?" Stan offers when he meets the redhead at his locker.

"Sounds like a plan," Kyle accepts. Visits lead to kissing – though they haven't slept together since the first time. He can wait. He doesn't want to rush things. "Come on," he nods to Stan. "Let's head out."

The brunet nods, following his boyfriend out of the school. For now, they clear their minds. They chatter mindlessly while they walk to the Marsh residence

"I don't know about you," Stan starts, changing the subject to that of a more serious topic, "but I'm getting kind of scared."

"Why?" Kyle asks, glancing at the brunet.

"Craig was really mean-mugging me and Cartman hard today," he murmurs. "I think he's seriously going to try and beat us up or something."

"A fight is hardly new," Kyle snorts.

"Yeah," he agrees with a sigh. "I guess I'll be lucky if that's all I get from him. I have a feeling he's capable of way worse. I just hope I don't ever have to find out."

"Try not to worry," Kyle attempts to assure him, but in actuality he's a little worried as well. Craig walks around like a zombie – feeling nothing – but one can only suppress so much. There's always a breaking point. Perhaps he's reached it.

When they arrive at Stan's house, they stroll inside, getting drinks from the kitchen before going upstairs. In Stan's room, they settle on his bed and decide to be studious. Kyle takes his text books out of his book bag and Stan gets out his laptop.

"Have you started your English essay?" Kyle asks him.

"Uh, no," Stan hesitantly admits.

Kyle rolls his eyes. "All right, I'll help you out."

In the grand scheme of things, nothing has really changed. Kyle can't help but think back to what Kenny said to him when he was still unsure. He said that romance is barely a step up from the kind of relationship he had with Stan. Kenny was right and it makes Kyle feel silly for worrying about it as much as he did.

* * *

After an hour of helping Stan with his essay, they take a break and set their homework aside. "Do you feel awkward at all?" the brunet suddenly questions.

"About what?" Kyle asks, leaning against the headboard of Stan's bed.

"Us…?"

Kyle shakes his head without hesitance. "Before we happened I thought I would, but I don't. It just feels… natural. I don't think that much has changed, to be honest."

"I suppose not," Stan agrees. "I'm relieved."

"Me, too," Kyle smiles.

"Still, I think it's weird how it happened," Stan admits. "Sometimes I think you're just going to remember that this isn't what you want and go back to dating girls."

"I want _you_," Kyle assures him.

"How do you know?"

Kyle lets out a chuckle. "Not to sound crude," he starts, "but I guess things were put into a new perspective when I had my dick in you. It meant something different than I originally thought it would. Of course I knew it would mean _something_, I just wasn't sure what."

"Oh…" Stan laughs sheepishly. "Sorry for being an insecure pansy."

Kyle shakes his head, putting a hand on the brunet's cheek. "You're not. It's fine. Everything is going to be fine. Me, you, Kenny… Cartman… even Craig. He'll be fine, too."

"You're just being hopeful," Stan accuses, leaning into the redhead's touch.

"Yeah," Kyle agrees with a laugh, "but it won't do any good to expect the worse, you know."

"I guess," the brunet agrees. He shifts, sitting between Kyle's legs and staring at him. "Should I apologize to Craig?"

"Yeah, I think we all should," Kyle admits.

"Cartman would probably refuse to…" Stan murmurs.

Kyle wrinkles his nose, unable to disagree. "Let's just… not think about that right now."

"What do you want to do, then?" Stan asks.

Instead of answering, Kyle leans forward and presses his mouth against Stan's, nudging his lips open. Stan gets lost in it. He finally has what he wants – _who_ he wants.

* * *

Down the street, Craig sits in his bed alone in the dark, holding the gun. 'Tomorrow,' he thinks to himself, letting out a shaky breath. 'Tomorrow I'll do it… and they won't fuck with me anymore.'

Because that's what it comes down to - the assurance that this will _never_ happen again.

But he always hesitates. He always stops. He lets things get in the way.

Clyde tells him to just move on since it's over. What a laugh! For Craig, it certainly isn't over. There's still the shame, the humiliation and the utter lack of dignity. Token tells him to talk it out with Tweek. Neither of them understand that he _can't_. His pride won't allow him to let this go. He can't forgive and he certainly can't forget. It's driving him up the wall. He feels like a dam he put up inside his head for years has finally been torn down. He hates it. He hates feeling this way. He hates _feeling_. He can't keep up with all these negative emotions. They're draining him.

He puts the gun back in his book bag and instead takes a flick blade out of his nightstand. He touches the sharp point with his thumb, pressing down until it draws blood. This has become his nightly ritual, sick and sad as it sounds.

'It doesn't even hurt,' he thinks, pressing the blade deeper and deeper.

* * *

The following day, it's lunch period. Cartman, Kenny, Kyle and Stan are all sitting outside on a bench when they see Craig approaching them. He looks exhausted, like he just rolled out of bed. He's wearing plaid pajama pants tucked into his boots and on his torso is a simple sweater, but he doesn't seem fazed by the cold weather. Instead, there is determination in his stride and Stan swaps a frightened look with Kyle.

Cartman, on the other hand, simply snorts. "Look," he nods to his friends as Craig draws nearer. But the look on his face changes when Craig pulls a gun out from his pocket. He wields it carelessly and there's a collective gasp, but no one speaks. No one moves. No one even breathes.

"I'm gonna kill you," Craig says in almost a daze. It's a tired and mechanical declaration, as if it's an irritating chore. Cartman's eyes are wide. He's scared. For the first time in a long time, he's scared shitless. "I'm gonna kill you," Craig says again in that same, airy tone.

"Craig, stop!" Kenny shouts pleadingly, inching closer to the chubby teenager until he's in front.

With one hand, Craig grabs the blond by the shirt and throws him onto the ground effortlessly. "Don't get in the way."

Kyle's heart feels like it has stopped in his chest. Stan feels the same. Everyone just stares. "Wh-what the fuck?" Cartman stutters, all color leaving his face. "Fuck off!"

"No," Craig murmurs before once again saying, "I'm gonna kill you."

The boys are all thinking the exact same thing – It happened. Craig Tucker has finally snapped and they have no one to blame but themselves.

"Any last words?" he asks Cartman, roughly pressing the gun against his forehead. The fat teenager stares at him, stuttering out various apologies and everyone is too afraid to budge an inch.

"Craig, please stop!" Kenny nearly sobs from the ground, trying once more to get the crazed brunet to calm down… but it doesn't work.

"I'm _sorry_, okay?" Cartman shouts.

Craig doesn't look like the apology even registered. He tightens his grip on the gun. "Bang," he says, pulling the trigger.

And…

Nothing.

Cartman squeezes his eyes shut expectantly, but _nothing_ happens.

It's silent.

He opens his eyes and stares at Craig.

"It was empty," the stoic teenager reveals and Cartman lets out a shuddery breath, sighing in relief. "But fuck with me again and maybe I _will_ load it," Craig warns with finality, shaking the gun at him before turning around and leaving the group of stunned teenagers. His heart beats rapidly in his chest as he exits the school ground. _Now_ it's over.


	16. The up side of things

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**One more chapter left :) **

* * *

Craig Tucker was kicked out of school, but since the gun wasn't loaded all he gets is a bottle of pills and therapy once a week. He didn't complain. It's been a month since the incident. It's been a month since he snapped and it feels like everything that he's been suppressing since his cousin died has been pouring out nonstop.

He's been keeping to himself, refusing company. No one outside of his family has seen him – not even Clyde. For now, he wants to keep it that way. No matter how much the dumb jock knocks at his door, he always keeps it locked.

His parents have been tip toeing around him lately. At the dinner table, is mother tentatively says, "Craig, honey… if you don't want to go back to school you should consider getting a job."

"It's not that I don't want to," he reminds her. "I can't. I was kicked out."

"Be honest," Ruby snorts. "You're probably glad you got kicked out."

Thomas goes red in the face. "He didn't have to bring a fuckin' gun to school to prove that point."

"Thomas," Mrs. Tucker warns her husband. "Stop it."

"Sorry for besmirching the family name," Craig says sarcastically.

Thomas flips his son off and Craig simply returns the gesture before continuing to pick at his food. When he's done, he excuses himself and returns to his room – his place of solitude. He sits on his window ledge and stares outside. The weather is crap, like always.

"Drip drip, drop drop," he says in a murmur as he watches rain hit the ground outside through the window. How dull.

"Hey, hermit," a voice says from his doorway.

He turns his head and sees Ruby hovering. "Hm?" he acknowledges airily.

"I'm going to let Clyde in next time he's here," she says. "And if you lock your door, I'll help him pick your fucking lock."

"Why?" he asks.

"Because this isn't healthy!" she exclaims. "People _need_ human contact. Otherwise they go all weird… then again, maybe it's too late for you. You're already weird as fuck."

"I don't _want_ to see anyone…" He turns away and continues to stare out the window.

"You've been acting so lifeless…" she murmurs, tone softening. "Even more than usual and it's concerning…"

He leans his forehead against the window. "Go," he tells her flatly. "You're annoying me."

* * *

After his latest therapy session, Craig is on his way home when he sees a familiar face standing in his driveway. Clyde.

"That fucker..." Sighing in irritation, he parks his father's car and gets out. "What is it?" he demands with crossed arms.

"Long time, no see, stranger," Clyde greets with a smile.

Craig raises an eyebrow. "Well?"

"How do you feel?" Clyde asks, approaching his best friend.

"I don't," he replies stiffly.

Clyde lets out a soft sigh. "Liar… but I bet you wish it was true, huh?" A pause. "What now, then?" he asks. "Now that you've scared the shit out of them and now that you've put enough distance between yourself and what happened… What now?"

"Nothing," Craig says simply.

"No," Clyde argues. "You need to start over. It's okay to start over, you know. It's okay to forgive people. Holding grudges drives you crazy."

"Too late," Craig states flatly.

Clyde gives his friend a sympathetic smile. "It's never too late, dude… Anyway, I'm glad I got to see you today. I won't overstay my welcome."

"Sure," Craig murmurs.

Clyde waves before walking off. For a minute, Craig watches him go, mulling over the words. What does he have to lose? Not much. He gets back in his father's car and shoves the keys into the ignition, pulling out of his driveway. Now to find Tweek.

He drives to the coffee shop, but when he's parked outside he hesitates.

* * *

Kenny strolls out of Tweek Bros with a cappuccino in his hand. What he sees surprises him. Craig is sitting in his car with his head against the steering wheel. Instead of minding his own business, he decides to approach the emotional teenager. He knocks on the window and sees Craig sit up, hurrying to dry his eyes. When he rolls down the window he coldly asks, "What?"

"Are you okay?" Kenny asks, sincerely wanting to know.

"I'm tired," Craig murmurs.

Kenny smiles sympathetically, knowing it's more than just a lack of sleep. He means a different kind of tired – the kind that builds and builds. The kind of tired that stems from too many nights spent worrying. With it comes an overall lack of emotion. Maybe that's why the kids call Craig Tucker a zombie. Kenny understands exactly how that feels.

"When you guys were together Tweek would continuously insist that you were a nice person. He never wanted to hurt you. I wonder if you really are a nice person or if he was just saying that because he was the only person you were nice to," Kenny tells him bluntly. "Why is that?"

Craig scoffs. "Don't pretend you know, prick."

"He loves you and you love him," Kenny says simply. "I don't have to pretend to know. I just know."

"It wasn't real," Craig murmurs.

"Maybe not in the beginning," Kenny agrees, "but it was by the end. Isn't that what really matters? It's okay to forgive people. In fact, it's healthy. Holding grudges makes you constipated and gives you wrinkles."

"That a fact?" Craig snorts.

Kenny smiles lightly. "No, I just made it up. Nonetheless, he gets off work when the hour is over. You should wait here and talk to him."

"Why do you care?" Craig asks. To him, it makes no sense. Why would Kenny even bother approaching him? He doesn't know.

"I want people to be happy," is all the other teenager says.

"Your own happiness should be your priority," Craig mutters.

Kenny shrugs. "It never has been. I can't really see that changing, but I'll try. I'll try for other people until I can try for myself." He pauses, shrugging again. "Anyway, I'm sorry for everything. I have to go now… but you should stay."

"All right," Craig relents in a murmur.

Kenny waves before continuing on his way. He has been trying to do good, but it's not an act of genuine altruism. He just wants to feel less empty.

* * *

For Tweek, it has been another miserable, guilt-ridden day. He sighs as he leaves, coffee cup in hand. He takes a sip, staring at his feet as he walks. Part of him hopes a car will just run him over, but no. Instead, something else happens. "Hey!" he hears a familiar nasally voice call. He glances up and sees Craig in his dad's car, window open. Tweek points to himself and Craig nods, waving him over.

He scurries to Craig's door and when they're facing one another he weakly greets, "Hi."

"I'll listen now," Craig says.

The blond gives him an unsure look. "Why? What changed?"

Craig is thoughtful for a moment before admitting, "Me, I guess."

Tweek nods, though he doesn't quite understand it. "I'm sorry," he apologizes yet again.

"Get in," Craig murmurs. "We'll go for a drive."

Tweek nods once more, silently moving to the other side of Craig's car and sitting in the passenger seat. When he's settled, he puts his coffee in the cup holder and Craig rolls his window back up. For a while, they drive in silence until they reach Stark's Pond. It's a familiar and comfortable place for both of them. It's a place where they've shared a few fond childhood memories. They're faint, but Tweek can remember them like blurry puzzle pieces. He can see ten year old Craig skating poorly. He's angry because he keeps falling. Bebe and Clyde try to steady him, but he never liked to depend on others. Now is no different. Sometimes you need to ask for help. Sometimes you need to depend on others. It's something Tweek wonders if Craig will ever truly understand. He never did learn how to skate.

"So…" Tweek starts as they park.

"Go ahead," Craig says.

Tweek doesn't know where to begin. There are things he wants to say, but he's unsure if it will make Craig upset. Nonetheless, honesty is key. "I th-think I was angry at you for a long time," he confesses quietly. "The way you ended our friendship when we were kids… I felt bad. You made me feel bad about myself – like I was the kind of person who couldn't be around other people without pissing them off. Even as the years went by, I guess the anger stuck around. Still, I didn't want to hurt you… but Cartman blackmailed me."

"With what?" Craig pries, staring at him. He's stony-eyed and his expression remains perfectly unreadable.

"He said he'd tell people my parents put drugs in the coffee," Tweek whispers and Craig makes an 'o' with his mouth. "I didn't want people to find out…" he continues in a murmur. "I didn't want my parents getting into trouble."

"You still should've told me," Craig accuses. His mask is starting to slip. "I mean, how would Cartman have found out?"

"I'm paranoid…" Tweek mumbles. His voice is beginning to tremble. "I know it's not an excuse, but I had all these thoughts going through my head… what if _this_, what if _that_… So in the end I chose my family over someone I wasn't even friends with."

Everything he's saying causes guilt to creep into Craig. He knows he wasn't the one who was wronged in this case, but he can't help but feel like he should have stuck around Tweek through the years instead of pushing him away. "Fine," he murmurs, letting out a deep breath.

"I'm sorry for hurting you," Tweek says sincerely. "Really… I'm so, so sorry…"

"Want to know why it hurt as much as it did?" he asks. He doesn't wait for a response before answering his own question, "You were my first… of a lot of things. I'm not just talking about virginity. You were the first person I trusted to see the ugliest parts of me. It felt real. I didn't feel judged. You were… reassuring. You made me feel better. I felt like, with you, I gained something good _finally,_ after years of nothing. Then I lost it. I found out it wasn't ever really mine."

"I'm sorry," Tweek apologizes again.

"Okay," is all Craig says. He swipes at his cheeks, annoyed at himself for getting emotional.

"It was stupid," the blond whispers. "I was stupid… I should've known… I should've known I'd end up falling for you and I shouldn't have listened to them. They make enough TV shows and movies about this shit. I should've known what would have happened…"

"Cartman won't say shit about your parents," Craig murmurs. "He talks a big game, but in the end, I don't think he cares enough to fuck you over. Especially not now."

Tweek smiles faintly. "You scared the shit out of him. I think he's still in shock."

"Good," Craig mumbles.

"What now?" the blond asks.

"I don't know," Craig admits.

Tweek stares at him. His eyes are still leaking and he makes no effort to wipe them this time. It makes Tweek feel bad for him, but he doesn't mention it. He knows how much Craig would hate that. "Do you think maybe… we c-can start over?" he pleads meekly.

Craig closes his eyes, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Yeah," he whispers. "Yeah, we can start over."

"I meant all the things I said to you," Tweek promises. "I never lied about any of that. Every time I reassured you, every time we spoke about the important things… I wasn't lying, Craig. I know it might take a long time for you to forgive me and… and I understand that… but I'll wait patiently."

Craig nods, glancing away. He stares past Tweek, out the window and off into the distance of the pond. He still finds it hard to maintain eye contact with people for too long. Maybe it's the trust issues. Maybe it's the anxiety. "Anyway," he says flatly, "I'll drive you home now if you want."

Tweek only nods and it's silent again – but this time it isn't tense. There's an understanding between both of the boys. When they reach Tweek's driveway, the blond leans over and pecks Craig on the lips.

"Is this too much for one day?" he asks, drawing back.

"No," Craig murmurs. "It's fine. We're fine."

"No, we're not," Tweek disagrees with a sad laugh.

"No, we're not…" Craig admits, "but we will be."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

* * *

Stan spends the day at Kyle's house. It's the first time Stan's been over since Kyle came out to his parents. He hasn't seen Sheila or Gerald yet, but he's worried they'll kick him out when they return. They're in the living room lounging around while watching some mindless movie on Netflix about zombies. Kyle is stretched out on the length of the sofa and Stan is lying on top of him. Just like that they're wholly matched, fitting perfectly with one another.

"Stop worrying," Kyle sighs as if reading his mind.

Stan smiles sheepishly, pressing his face into the redhead's shoulder. "That obvious, huh?"

"A bit," Kyle says, slowly moving his hands beneath Stan's shirt. He rubs circles up and down the brunet's smooth back and adds, "It's not like they automatically hate you now. They just… I don't know. They want something different for me. They probably want something different for you, too."

"They're mean," Stan murmurs. "They make you feel like shit all the time."

"I don't even think they realize that they're doing it," Kyle admits.

Stan lifts his head and stares at Kyle. "No excuse!" he says with finality.

Kyle smiles at him. "I guess not."

"What should we do about Craig?" Stan asks out of the blue. "He got expelled..."

"We need to apologize," Kyle says. "I just don't know if Cartman will go for it."

Stan snickers. "The look on his face when Craig pulled out the gun…"

"The look on all of our faces," Kyle snorts. "Christ, I thought my heart was gonna fall out of my ass."

* * *

Sheila and Gerald pull into the driveway, parking and walking up their front porch. From the other side of the door they can hear laughter – loud, happy. They immediately recognize the voices as Stan and their son. The hesitate, swinging the door open once the laughter subsides. On the sofa they see Stan lying on Kyle, their lips fastened. Upon the intrusion, they break apart immediately and scramble into sitting positions.

Sheila watches them with a tight smile while Gerald looks off to the side. "Kyle, can we speak to you?" Sheila asks once the boys collect themselves.

Kyle sighs. "Go ahead," he says. "Whatever it is, I bet Stan has a right to hear it, too."

Sheila looks saddened. "I…" she pauses, letting out a shuddery breath. "I haven't seen you this happy in a long time."

"Kyle, we're sorry we made you feel like you had to hide a part of yourself from us," Gerald adds with sincerity. "No parent should make their child feel like that."

"Oh," Kyle says softly. It's not quite a blessing, but he will take it.

* * *

Later in the night – during a routine group call on Skype – Kenny tells his friends that he saw Craig earlier. He doesn't talk about the details of the visit, knowing Cartman would get a little too much pleasure hearing about Craig's emotional overload. He, after all, was the one who wanted to see Craig cry. Alas for Cartman it is a dream that will likely never come true. So, after much protesting on Cartman's behalf, the boys agree to apologize to Craig. When the following day arrives, the boys skip out during lunch break and make their way to the Tucker house. They still remember where it is from when they were little.

At the end of the day, Craig still got the worse end of the stick. He succeeded in scaring them all shitless, sure, but he also got kicked out of school. Though perhaps, for him, it was worth it. Kenny has a feeling it was and maybe in the end that's what matters, even if it's a bit fucked up. Craig needed to do this to get back what he felt he lost.

Kenny rings the doorbell. When Craig answers it, they muster up as much sincerity as they can and give him a hearty apology. "We're sorry," the three boys say in unison while Cartman remains silent.

"Thaaanks," Craig says in a slow deadpan, though he's somewhat amused. He can't help but wonder if they rehearsed it.

Kenny nudges Cartman and the fat teenager begrudgingly says, "Yeah, sorry. Again."

It's thoughtless, but Craig forces himself to appreciate it nonetheless. "All right." He shuts the door afterwards and the boys all turn around, walking down the driveway and back onto the main road.

"Y'know," Stan says with realization, "he didn't seem that mad…"

"Yeah, I wonder why?" Kyle muses.

"He made up with Tweek," Kenny shares knowingly.

"Finally," Cartman mutters.

"This was all your damn fault," the blond reminds him.

"Stan helped!" Cartman protests. "Ain't even fair that I was the only one who got a gun shoved on my face…"

"It's over now!" Kenny exclaims with finality before throwing his hands up in the air. "I hope we can all agree that we've learned from it."

Kyle snorts back a laugh. "That's what we always say and before we know it we're knee deep in shit again."

"Next time we come up with an idiotic plan… let's remember this," Kenny says pleadingly.

"Yes," Stan agrees while Kyle simply nods his head.

"So, what now?" the blond asks, glancing at his friends. Cartman makes a lewd gesture, causing Stan and Kyle to grimace. Kenny, on the other hand, likes what the chunky teenager is offering. "My place or yours?"

"Mine," Cartman says without thought or hesitance. "Your place smells like poor people."

"Bitch," Kenny insults.

"Nah, babe, you're the bitch," Cartman retorts.

Kyle and Stan exchange a look of immense distaste, both thinking the same thing. "Fucking hell," Kyle mutters, grabbing Stan's hand. The two of them run off, not wanting to listen to Cartman and Kenny's _playful_ banter.

* * *

In the end, things only stay bad if you let them. It's a lesson they've all learned and it's a lesson some of them may have to learn over and over again. Still, someday it will stick and someday things will be better – for all of them.


	17. Epilogue: Fireworks

**South Park © Matt & Trey**

**And we're all finished. Yey. Thanks to everyone who gave me kind reviews!  
If you like K2 check out my new fic _Liar Liar_ ~ c: **

* * *

The rest of the school year went by without a hitch. It's summer now and it's once again quiet. No more fights and the temporary insanity has been brushed to the side. No more secrets. Everything is out in the open now. Who is dating who, who fought who, who fucked who. When the talk died down and the rumors simmered, everything went back to normal fairly quickly. Craig watched it happen from afar. Tweek's parents are still free to put drugs in their coffee, making it more addicting than your average cup of java. Cartman is still free to run his fat mouth, making others feel like shit in an attempt to make himself feel better. Kyle is still free to act as pretentious as he can. Stan is still free to whine, whine, whine. Clyde is still free to moon over Bebe, who actually returns much of the sentiment these days. Jason is still free to be the scum of the earth. Kenny is still free to fuck around with strangers, though it's clear he's been trying hard not to.

Sometimes there's justice. Sometimes there isn't. Sometimes the world delivers it. Sometimes you need to deliver your own. Craig always understood that. That's why he did what he did. He can't say he regrets it.

Nonetheless, it's done. It's been done for a long time. There's no more going back. From here on, he'll try and move forward. Because that's just it. In life, you're always moving forward. Never backwards.

Today it's the Fourth of July and everyone is getting ready to see the fireworks. It's early in the evening and Craig is standing in his room, eying himself in the mirror. Each cut, bruise and burn. Each scar. He touches them all. He doesn't feel as bad anymore. Perhaps it's the closure or perhaps it comes with letting go. Either way, he feels content. It doesn't hurt as bad as it used to.

He puts on blue jeans and a red t-shirt, refusing to let the scars and cuts sway the way he dresses. It doesn't matter anymore.

Unlike the rest of the kids in town, he won't be going back to school in the fall (even though they said he could). Instead, he got a job. He is now working as a cashier at Wal-Mart and, as much as it sucks, he doesn't complain. Out of all the boring days he's been having lately, there are still some good ones. That makes everything worth it in the end.

If someone was to ask Craig's friends, they would all agree he is kinder these days, gentler even. He smiles and laughs and sometimes he even jokes, though they're few and far between. He's not as angry and when Tweek is near, he doesn't feel as lonely. He lets in the good and no longer dwells on the bad. He can breathe easy. That's what it's all about.

After slipping on his sneakers, Craig leaves home and walks down the main road. The sun is scorching – one of South Park's rarities, even in the summer. Craig arrives at the festival and makes his way through groups of people – Kids with cameras, cotton candy and popcorn, some are familiar faces and some are strangers. A local band plays live music on stage and the sound can be heard all throughout the little town. Craig swerves through the crowd, looking for a certain blond. When he spots him – looking lost as ever – he calls his name and waves him over.

"Tweek!"

And the shaky blond hurries to Craig's side, latching onto his arm as they continue to wade through the horde.

There are many more familiar faces. Some of them stare – but he doesn't let it bother him. He doesn't let them bring him down. He sees Kenny clinging to Cartman, while Stan and Kyle hold hands. When they spot Craig, they all react but in different ways. Kyle offers a tentative smile along with Kenny. Stan averts his eyes and Cartman... "What the fuck?" His eyes bugger out of his head at the sight of Craig Tucker in a t-shirt, scars exposed.

"Don't say a fucking word," Kyle warns him tersely, eliciting nods of agreement from Stan and Kenny.

Craig wrinkles his nose. He could shout. He could call them out and remind them, "Next time I'll load the gun." But he doesn't. Instead, he ignores them. He walks hand in hand with Tweek and they find a good spot on the grassy knoll.

Truth is, no one has been causing him any trouble these days. Cartman hasn't taunted him. Stan hasn't thrown a punch. He likes it like this. Nice and boring. Nice and easy. Nice and quiet.

"Excited?" he asks Tweek as they near the top.

The blond nods, smiling shakily. "I love this time of year. I love the weather the most… but the fact that there's no class is also nice."

"That means we get to spend more time together," Craig points out, offering the smallest of smiles.

"Exactly," Tweek says, returning the smile with one of his own.

Soon, their friends join them – Clyde with Bebe and Token with Nichole. None of them stare at Craig's arms or give him piteous glances. Instead, they all just smile, knowing how much it means for him to be this far out of his shell. This time, he won't be going back in. At least, he'll try not to. At the end of the day, all one can do is try.

As the sky darkens, the music dies down and the fireworks start.

"Look at them," Tweek murmurs in awe.

They soar through the air, lighting up the night. Up, up and away.

**Fin.**


End file.
